The Ninth Window
by DJ LAZA
Summary: A Secret Window, Ninth Gate cross over... complete story Please R
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters from the Ninth Gate or From Secret Window. They are the property of their respective creators.

---

1

---

There he sat in his car, many emotions displayed upon his face. But if only one could be chosen, you'd probably say: Anger.

The man stared through the windshield of his car, not moving, not making any noise. He simply sat.

All of a sudden, the man backed the car down the road. And then he emerged. He walked over to a room. It appeared to be a lobby.

He grabbed a key off the wall and began to pace away quickly back toward his car. He got back into the car and sped off in the other direction, then stopped.

He emerged from the car once more, taking the key with him. The man paused in front of a door. He shoved the key into the lock and turned the knob--

The man was Mort Corso, with a sneaking suspicion that his wife had been cheating on him for quite a while now. But tonight, Mort decided that he'd had enough. He needed to know if it was true. And he was about to find out--

Mort marched into the dark room. There was his wife. And there was another man. Mort almost began to cry. He wanted to. But he didn't. Instead, at a loss for words, all he could utter was a long painful scream of anguish. His life was over.


	2. Chapter 2

---

2

---

That had been six long months ago.

Mort had separated from his wife and now his life had become one long road trip.

He lived in New York but... it had been a while since he had actually set foot in the town.

Amy had taken the house and he was doing so much traveling he hadn't bought a new one. He had basically left every possession he had with Amy, save for his dog. Chico was his best friend even though he rarely had time to see him.

Mort Corso was a book appraiser and a book appraiser's job consisted of traveling. Lots of traveling. He would go from country to country, inspecting various collections that belonged to rich, arrogant, stuck-up collectors.

Mort was a very famous book appraiser, though. He specialized in his work, and not only that, he was one of the best of it's kind. And that was why so many called upon his great skill.

Mort didn't like the traveling. But who cared what Mort liked or didn't like. All that mattered was the money. At least that was what Mort thought of the whole thing. Traveling meant doing his job and doing his job meant cold hard cash. And who was to argue with that? Certainly not Mort Corso.


	3. Chapter 3

---

3

---

Mort had finally come back to his resident city of New York and was staying at a hotel. A fancy one, of course. But this morning Mort was not in his hotel room, he was out to meet one of his clients, Boris Balkan. Balkan was a very good client. A very... rich client.

Mort rode in a taxi-- As well as not owning a house, neither did he own a car. He had left it with Amy amongst his other things. His primary transport now had become taxis-- As they drove through the city, Mort saw the building that he was to go to. A sign above the entrance read "Balkan Press".

The driver stopped the taxi, Mort paid him and got out of the car.

Mort walked into the lobby of the building. He passed the security guard and gave him a friendly nod. Mort continued down the lobby until he stopped at a door. There was a sign mounted on an easel outside of the door. It read 'Demons and Medieval Literature, by Boris Balkan, Ph.D.'

He opened the door a crack and saw that Balkan was in the middle of a speech. Mort made a face, slowly shut the door and walked around to the back entrance. He snuck into the seminar and took his seat in one of the desks. All the while, Balkan droned his speech.

He scanned the room, noticing that Balkan's audience consisted mostly of middle-aged females. Out of the corner of his eye, one particular girl seemed to stand out. He looked at her. There was just something about her that was... different.

Mort tried to concentrate on Balkan's speech, but this was all a bit too boring for his liking, and he quickly dozed off in his chair.

When Balkan had finished his speech and the room began to clear out, he approached the sleeping Mort Corso, looked down at him tastelessly.

"I see you were stimulated my little talk, Mr. Corso," He said, cynically.

Mort stirred and then his eyes opened. He looked around the room that before had been filled and saw a few remaining members of the audience packing up to leave. He looked up at Balkan who was standing over him.

"Did I snore?" Mort asked.

"Nice of you to ask, but no. Not that I noticed. Shall we go?" Balkan asked, gesturing to the doorway.

Balkan and Mort made their way down the lobby.

"Don't you sleep nights?" Balkan asked.

"Like a baby," Mort replied.

"Hmm. I would've guessed that you're up half the night with your eyes peeled. You're one of those lean, hungry, restless types. A man who would stab their friends in the back...," Balkan explained.

They reached the end of the hall and came to an elevator. Balkan pushed the button on the wall and they waited for the elevator to come down. He turned back to Mort. Mort yawned at him.

"Not, I suspect, that you have many friends, do you, Mr. Corso? Your kind seldom does," Balkan continued.

"That makes two of us," Mort replied.

Balkan ignored Mort's comment.

Suddenly there was a ding and the elevator's doors opened. The two men stepped inside. Balkan approached the keypad and pressed one of the buttons. The elevator began to ascend.

Balkan continued, "You're right, of course. Your friendships don't concern me in the least. Our relations have always been strictly commercial, and that's the way I like it. The professional and the personal should be mutually exclusive."

Mort became annoyed as to where the conversation was headed. He needed to get off it. "Listen, I came here to do some business, not shoot the breeze. If you want to expound your personal philosophies, write another book."

"You don't like me, do you?" Balkan asked.

Mort shrugged. "I don't have to like you. You're a client, and you pay well."


	4. Chapter 4

---

4

---

The elevator reached its destination and the doors opened. Mort and Balkan walked out into the room. It was a library, shelves lining the walls all filled with priceless antique books.

Balkan gestured to his collection. "Well?" He asked eagerly, waiting for Mort to utter some excited cry of astonishment or at least something along those lines.

But Mort did not react in the way that Balkan had imagined, he simply replied, "Yup."

Balkan frowned. "You know, you're extremely privileged, Mr. Corso. Very few people have ever set foot in here. This is my private collection. Some bibliophiles specialize in Gothic novels, others in Books of Hours. All my own rare editions have the same protagonist: the Devil."

Mort actually was very impressed but did his best not to show it. "May I take a look?" He asked.

"Yes. That's why I brought you here," Balkan replied, a small smile on his face.

Mort nodded gratefully and made his way over to one of the shelves of books. He scanned the antiques thoughtfully, roaming along the spines of the books.

Balkan walked over to him and stood beside. "Beautiful, aren't they? The soft sheen, the superb gilding... Not to mention the centuries of wisdom they contain -- centuries of erudition, of delving into the secrets of the universe and the hearts of men... I know people who would kill for a collection like this. The Ars Diavoli. You'll never see as many books on the subject anywhere else in the world. They're the rarest editions in existence. It has taken me a lifetime to assemble them. Only the supreme masterpiece was missing. Come..." He gestured for Mort to come along with him.

Balkan lead him over to a podium. A black book adorned with a gold pentacle rested upon it. Mort opened the book to the title page. "'The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows'..." Mort read aloud, surprised, not taking his eyes off the book.

"You're familiar with it?" Balkan asked.

"Yes. Venice, 1623. The author and printer was Aristide Torchia, burned by the Holy Inquisition, together with all his works. Only three copies survived," Mort explained.

"One," Balkan corrected.

"The catalogs list three copies surviving in private ownership : The Fargas, The Kessler, and the Milner," Mort argued.

Balkan smiled at him. "That's true. You know your business, but you're mistaken nonetheless. According my own research, only one is authentic."

"Well, three are known," Mort continued to argue.

"That's the trouble."

Mort studied the book further. "Where did you get it?" he asked.

Balkan hesitated for a moment before saying, "I bought it from Milner."

"Milner?" Mort asked. He had never heard of a Milner before.

"Yes... He uh... Sold it to me," Balkan explained.

"Why would he sell it to you? You're not exactly..," Mort trailed off, thinking that he was going too far.

"Not exactly what, Mr. Corso?" Balkan asked.

Mort did not reply.

"It doesn't matter what I am or am not; Money talks," Balkan continued.

Mort looked back to the book on the podium and turned the pages with care. He stopped on a page that featured an engraving of a knight in armor riding toward a castle with a finger to his lips as though enjoining the reader to silence. Below was a caption.

Balkan moved closer and read aloud what it said over Mort's shoulder. "Sivm et av vm."

"Silence is golden?" Mort asked, a bit confused by what the line meant.

"Precisely. Ever heard of the 'Delomelanicon'?" Balkan asked.

"Heard of it, yes. It's a myth, isn't it? A book reputed to have been written by Satan himself," Mort said.

"No myth. That book existed. Torchia actually acquired it," Balkan explained. "The engravings you're now admiring were adapted by Torchia from the 'Delomelanicon'. They a form of satanic riddle. Correctly interpreted with the aid of the original text and sufficient inside information, they're reputed to conjure up the Prince of Darkness in person."

Mort looked down at the book thoughtfully, "You don't say," he said and turned the pages of the book some more. Suddenly he shut the book. "I think I should be going. You know where to find me if you need me," He said, and walked over to the elevator. Mort pushed the button.

The elevator's doors opened in some moments and Mort went inside. He pressed a button on the keypad and the doors began to close.

"Goodbye, Mr. Corso," Balkan said, still standing at the podium.

The doors closed and the elevator began to descend.


	5. Chapter 5

---

5

---

Mort entered his hotel room and sat down on the bed. He sighed and lay down. His dog Chico came over and began to lick the fingertips of his hand that happened to be carelessly dangling over the bed side.

All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door. A bit annoyed, Mort stood up and answered it.

Chico whimpered and made his way over to his doggy bed in the corner of the room.

Mort was surprised to see Balkan standing at his doorway.

"Balkan?" Mort asked.

Balkan walked past Mort and into the hotel room. Mort looked at him in awe, but closed the door of the room.

Balkan took a seat in a nearby chair. "Are you a religious man, Mr. Corso? I mean, do you believe in the supernatural?" Balkan asked.

Mort stared at Balkan open mouthed, studied him, wondered why the hell he was in his hotel room asking him such a strange question.

But.. he closed his mouth, gathered himself and responded as though there was nothing wrong with the situation.

"I believe in my percentage." He paused, then continued, "What the hell do you want from me, Balkan?"

"I want you to go to Europe and investigate," Balkan said, pulling his copy of 'The Nine Gates' out of his jacket pocket. He held it up so Mort could see it. "The other two copies are in Portugal and France. I want you to find some way of comparing them with mine: every page, every engraving, the binding - everything. I'm convinced that only one is authentic, I want to know which," Balkan explained.

Mort was even more confused now as to Balkan's behavior. Why was he coming to him with such a silly request? Although.. Silly requests sometimes require vast amounts of funding...

"Could be an expensive trip," Mort replied.

Balkan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded check. He handed it to Mort.

Mort took it and immediately deposited it into his own jacket pocket, not even examining it. Even though he did not know Balkan that well, he knew his wallet. And Balkan was never stingy with checks. Balkan was loaded and there was no need to see what sum was inscribed on the check. He was sure that it was well over enough.

"That's to get you started. Spend what you need," Balkan instructed.

"What if I find that your copy's a forgery?" Mort asked, nervous at the response.

Balkan stared at him coldly for a moment, then spoke, "That's quite possible."

Mort was mildly surprised. He walked over to Balkan and took the book from him. He looked at it, then he placed it up to his ear and flipped the pages, 'listening' to the quality of the paper. "Really? It doesn't appear to be. Even the paper sounds Kosher," Mort said.

"Even so. There's something wrong," Balkan said, frowning.

Mort continued to examine the book. He smiled at Balkan's comment, knowing exactly what he meant. "You mean the Devil won't show up?" Mort asked, a faint mocking sense could be picked up in his voice.

He closed the book and handed it back to Balkan.

"Don't mock what you don't know, Mr. Corso. If all three copies turn out to be bogus or incomplete, your work will be done. If, on the other hand, one of them turns out to be genuine, I'll finance you further," Balkan explained.

Mort stared at him, then he took the check out of his pocket. He unfolded it and glanced at the amount. He raised his eyebrows-- Just as he thought. A substantial sum.

"I want you to get it for me at all costs, never mind how," Balkan explained.

"Never mind how sounds illegal," Mort said, curiously.

"It wouldn't be the first time you've done something illegal."

"Not that illegal."

"Hence the size of the check. Do a good job, I'll double it," Balkan said, holding out 'The Nine Gates' out to Mort. After a moment's hesitation, Mort replaced the check in his pocket and took the book.

"Be careful, Corso," Balkan warned.

"What do you mean?" Mort asked. He held up the book, "With this?"

"Just be careful," Balkan repeated and stood up from the chair. He walked to the doorway, let himself out of Mort's hotel room, walked down the hall and then was out of sight.

Mort stood still in his spot and looked at 'The Nine Gates'. He had a bad feeling inside. And it was growing quickly.


	6. Chapter 6

---

6

---

The next day Mort immediately began his job. He decided to visit a friend that he had tracked down of the previous owner of his client's book, Mr. Milner.

Mort arrived at the house, by taxi of course. This was no house, though. It was a mansion. He sat in the main hall, gazing at the vast luxury as he waited.

Whilst eyeing various expensive paintings on the wall, a woman came down the stairs. It was Liana Telfer, friend of the so-called Mr. Milner. And boy, was she fine.

She looked Mort over and then made her way over.

"Good morning. Mort Corso." He said, getting up and approaching her. "Terribly sorry to disturb you at a time like this."

Liana motioned for Mort to follow her into the living room and sat in the armchair that faced the couch. She crossed her legs and looked at Mort.

Mort sat down on the couch with his bag between his feet. He bent over, opened it, and produced 'The Nine Gates'.

Liana involuntarily stiffened at sight of it.

"Um... It would be very helpful, ma'am, if you could tell me what you know about this book," Mort said, holding it out to her. After a momentary pause, Liana slowly reached for the book. She opened it at random, turned a page or two.

She looked back up at him, "Isn't this one of my friend, Milner's?" She asked.

"Right. It was in his collection until very recently. He sold it to a client of mine. I'm trying to authenticate it," Mort explained.

"He sold it, you say? How strange. This was one of his most treasured possessions," Liana said.

"He never mentioned the sale?" Mort asked, curiously.

"No. It's news to me. Who bought it?" Liana asked, trying to sound casual.

"A private collector," Mort replied.

"May I know his name?" Liana asked.

"I'm afraid that's confidential," Mort replied. He smiled a small friendly smile at her.

"I suppose he has a bill of sale?" Liana asked.

"No problem there," Mort replied.

"Is this your job, authenticating rare books?" Liana asked.

"And tracking them down, yes, " Mort added.

A smile spread over her face. "You're a book detective."

Mort smiled back. "Kind of...," He said and paused."Do you know when and where Milner acquired this book?" Mort asked.

"In Spain. He and I were vacationing together in Toledo at the time. He got very excited -- paid a great deal of money for it. He's a fanatical collector," Liana explained.

"So I gather," Mort said.

Liana placed 'The Nine Gates' on the coffee table and stood up.

"Well, Mr. Corso. I've got some business that I need to take care of now. It would be best if you would go," Liana said.

Mort nodded, understandingly. He was disappointed, though, because he hadn't had the chance to ask her what he wanted. But, he stood up as well to follow her to the doorway. Suddenly, he stopped and turned back to the coffee table. He picked up the book, placed it back into his bag, and then proceeded with following her.

"Look," Liana said, walking ahead of him. She pointed to some shelves lining the walls that were filled with books. "I'm a bit of a collector, myself," She said.

Mort followed behind her, staring at her rear. "Magnificent...," Mort commented. Reluctantly, he dragged his eyes away from Liana and surveyed the crowded shelves. "Really magnificent...," He said, and walked over to inspect the bookshelves.

Liana looked at her watch and made a face. "Goodbye, Mr. Corso," Liana said, opening the front door of the mansion.

A terribly important question suddenly came to mind, "Did he ever try it out?" Mort asked, walking into the open doorway.

Liana frowned at him, "I don't understand."

"The book -- did Mr. Milner ever use it to perform some kind of ritual intended to... well produce a supernatural effect?" Mort asked.

She uttered a small laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely," Mort insisted.

She laughed again. "My friend's a trifle eccentric, Mr. Corso, but he's not insane. It's true that's he's always acted a bit strange," She said and paused. She looked at Mort. "But whatever he was up to, I certainly can't see him chanting mumbo-jumbo or trying to raise the dead."

Mort smiled at her and patted his book bag. "The Devil, Mrs. Telfer. This book is designed to raise the Devil."


	7. Chapter 7

---

7

---

Later that day, Mort went to a reference library. He needed to find out some info about the book, and where was a better place to find out info about something than a reference library?

Mort sat at one of the tables with 'The Nine Gates' in front of him. Beside it sat a large catalog and his notebook. 'The Nine Gates' was open to the first page, which displayed the title - 'De Umbrarum Regni Novem Portis'- and the words 'Sic Luceat Lux' separated by an emblem.

Quietly to himself, Mort read the words aloud, "Sic Luceat Lux ... Thus ... let the light ... shine..."


	8. Chapter 8

---

8

---

Mort had spent the rest of the day at the reference library and it was now evening. Many of the tables were deserted, and reading lights had been switched on.

Mort shut the catalog he was using and walked over to the bookshelf behind his chair to replace it.

He ran his finger along one of the shelves until it came upon the next catalog he needed. He removed it out of its slot and was startled to see, through the open space, the face of a girl. The face quickly disappeared. Mort could've sworn that he'd seen the girl at Balkan's lecture the other day.

He quickly rounded the end of the bookshelf and looked. But there was no sign of her. She had vanished. But.. She had been there, right? Mort certainly had not imagined her or anything? He was not going crazy. The girl existed and that was that. She had probably just left the library quickly or something. Right?

He looked both ways, but the aisles were deserted. Puzzled, he returned to his seat and opened the second catalog.

He turned some pages in 'The Nine Gates' and came to an engraving of a naked woman riding a seven-headed dragon with a castle ablaze in the background. He looked over the second catalog, which displayed a small reproduction of the same scene with text wrapped around it. He jotted something down in his notebook.

Mort decided that he'd had enough for one day. All he wanted to do was to crawl in bed and fall asleep forever. Wearily, he straightened and stretched. Mort removed his glasses, placed them on the table, and looked around the room. As he looked above to the gallery overhead, he caught an unfocused glimpse of the mysterious girl looking down at him.

He quickly scooped up his glasses from the table and scrambled to place them on his face. But when he looked up again, she was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

---

9

---

Returning from the library, Mort trudged up the steps of the hotel. He walked to the elevator and rode up to his suite.

Mort emerged from the elevator and walked down the passage to his door. He inserted the key into the lock and tried to turn, but the door swung open by itself.

Mort gulped and took a step into the dark room. He flipped the light switch on..

The room was askew. Everything was everywhere. Obviously someone had been in there. But why?

Then he realized why: The book; 'The Nine Gates'. Someone was after it. Who? Perhaps it was that girl. She had seemed to be popping up around him everywhere lately. Maybe it was her? But, maybe it wasn't. Who was it? He did not know... yet.

This made him remember Balkan's warning. 'Be careful, Corso,' Balkan had said. Was this what he had been referring to?

Mort had to hide the book. It was not safe in his possession. Someone knew that he had it, and they would probably not stop until they got it.


	10. Chapter 10

---

10

---

He fell asleep on the couch that night in his bathrobe, snoring. Hours had passed and it was morning.

Someone twisted the knob of his hotel room door. Mort stirred, then awakened. He looked toward the door, and put on his glasses. Reluctantly, he got up.

Someone knocked on the door. Mort made his way over to the door and opened it.

There, stood a man. He was dressed very plain and atop his head lay a large black hat. The style of hat you would commonly associate with the Amish.

"You stole my story," The man said. Mort was at a loss for words. "Well?" The man asked, a bit impatiently.

"I'm sorry.. do I.. I don't believe I know you," Mort fumbled.

"I know that. That doesn't matter. I know you, Mr. Corso. That's what matters. You stole my story," the strange man insisted.

Mort shook his head. Obviously the man was crazy. "You're mistaken...," he trailed off. Mort suddenly realized that the man could be referring to the copy of 'The Nine Gates'. Yes! This was the man who had broken into his hotel room yesterday. It had to be. But.. It was highly unlikely that a man would break into somewhere and then come back the next day and knock on the door. Even so, Mort did not rule out this man as a suspect.

"You stole it," The man said, breaking Mort from his thoughts.

"I can assure you that I--"

"I know you can. I know that. I don't want to be assured," The man insisted.

The bad feelings Mort had been experiencing previously had all rushed back now. What had Balkan left out of their conversation? Who was this man? Perhaps Balkan had stolen it from... No. The previous owner had been a Mr. Milner, but-- Maybe Milner had stolen it from this man?

Chico came over to the doorway and began to circle the strange man's legs.

"Alright. Look, Mr. Who ever you are, I don't like being accused of stealing, if that is in fact what you are accusing me of." Mort looked at the dog, "Chico, inside!"

The dog looked up at the strange man and went back into the room.

The man grinned at Mort. "I don't blame you for not liking it, but you did it. You stole my story," He repeated.

"You're going to have to leave. I have nothing more to say," Mort said, which really was the truth. There was nothing more to say. The man was not making any sense. Mort had stolen nothing-- Well.. at least not anything that had to do with the whole situation.

Mort began to shut the door, but the man put his hand in the way and held the door back.

"Yeah, I'll go. We'll talk more later," The man said, sounding very sure of himself that he would talk to Mort again later.

"Later?" Mort asked. "There won't be a later. I didn't steal your book and that's that. Case closed."

"It won't do you any good to play games with me, Mr. Corso. This has got to be settled," the man said.

"So far as I'm concerned, it is," Mort said, shut the door and quickly locked it. He stood with his back against the door, breathing slightly heavily. He was expecting the man to break the door down and come in after him.

Chico approached Mort and gave him a strange look. Mort returned the look.

He began to hear noises coming from outside. Mort waited against the door for a few minutes more, then he finally decided that he would open it up.

Mort opened the door and looked around, but he saw no one. He let out a long relieved breath and was about to go back inside, when he looked down and saw a rock at the doorway. And under the rock there was a paper. Mort gulped.

He bent down and picked the rock off of the piece of paper and moved it over to the side. Then he slowly raised the paper up to his view and studied it. It was a photocopy of one of the engravings from 'The Nine Gates'. On the engraving, there was a hermit with two keys in his hand and a dog and lantern beside.

Mort looked at it confusedly and then turned the paper over. There was something written on the back. Mort adjusted his glasses and peered at the paper. "Like our original keepers, after time the holy enriched kindness enters your soul. --John Shooter." Mort's face broke out into an utterly confused expression. He raised to his feet, walked back into the room and closed the door.

"Never seen you, pal," Mort said aloud to himself as he walked over to the couch. He stopped where he was suddenly. "Not only that, it doesn't even make any sense! 'Like our original keepers, after time the holy enriched kindness enters your soul'? What the hell kind of crazy talk is that!" Mort shouted.

He walked over to the garbage can and dumped the paper it into the trash.

"Now, where was I?" Mort asked aloud. He lay down on the couch and tossed around.

Chico gave him another one of those looks.


	11. Chapter 11

---

11

---

Mort sat down at the table in his hotel room, 'The Nine Gates' opened up in front of him. An annoying noise was coming from the other room.

Mort shot a glance at the dog. "I'm open to suggestions."

The dog looked sad.

Mort suddenly stood up and walked to the doorway of the next room. He saw Mrs. Garvey, the hotel's maid who was assigned to his room, vacuuming.

He looked back at the dog. "If you don't go and bite her, I'll kill her."

The dog turned away.

Mort went back into the other room and sat in his chair. He rubbed his hands together and looked down at the open book. "I have to visit the other two owners next," he said aloud. "I have to examine their copies."

Mort reached over to the end of the table and picked up his slinky."Fargas and Kessler," He said thoughtfully.

He played with it for a few moments, then put it down.

"But first...," he began. Mort closed 'The Nine Gates', held it in his hands and looked at it. "I'm going to have to hide you, my friend."


	12. Chapter 12

---

12

---

Mort made his way across town to 'Bernie's book store'. Bernie was _slightly_ a friend of his.

He lay the book open across Bernie's desk.

"Son of a bitch... Where did you get this?" Bernie asked, both jealous and amazed at the same time.

"This guy Balkan. He wants me to research it," Mort said.

"He owns a 'Nine Gates'?" Bernie asked, still amazed.

"Recently acquired from a Mr. Milner," Mort explained. "Or so I'm told..," He muttered to himself, thinking of his strange encounter that morning with the man that calls himself 'John Shooter'

"What's that?" Bernie asked, not hearing Mort's second phrase.

Mort shook his head, "Nothing."

Bernie shrugged and continued, "Trust this Balkan. What does he need you for? I don't suppose he plans to sell it," Bernie said.

"He wants me to compare it with the other two surviving copies which are in Portugal and France. Therefore, I'm off to Europe," Mort explained, smiling faintly.

"Compare it?" Bernie asked.

"Yeah. Only one of the three is authentic, he says."

"Well, this one looks genuine enough. Christ, it's gotta be worth a million. Take care of it," Bernie said, still gushing over the book.

"That's why I'm here. I need you to stash it for me. I'm starting to uh.. see things," Mort said, somewhat nervous at his 'friend's' reaction.

Bernie stared at him for a moment, then spoke, "Like what?"

"Uninvited visitors, unfamiliar faces. I don't trust anyone, not even Balkan. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure I trust you."

"You know I wouldn't screw you without a good reason. Money; Women; Business. Anything else, you can relax," Bernie said.

Mort tapped on the book with his finger. "You'll answer for this with your balls, Bernie," Mort said. It had sounded cynical, but Mort was actually serious.

Bernie didn't pick up on the seriousness, "Sure, man, sure. You can castrate me personally," Bernie said, grinning.

"I'll pick it up later," Mort said.

"No problem," Bernie said.

He continued to gush over the book, turned another page. "These engravings are terrific!" Bernie exclaimed."

Mort leaned over Bernie's shoulder. The book was open to an engraving of a man hung up from a rope by his leg. The engraving somewhat disturbed him. "Or horrific, whichever."

Bernie nodded absently. He smiled to himself, still totally taken aback with the book. "Beautiful, just beautiful..."


	13. Chapter 13

---

13

---

Mort had returned back to his hotel room. He felt mixed emotions about the book now. On the one hand, if his visitor from the previous night came back looking for the book, they'd be out of luck. But then on the other hand, it was supposed to be in his possession and he didn't feel right about leaving it somewhere else with a man whom he had little trust invested in.

Mort sighed to himself and walked though the suite eating some loose Doritos. He stopped at the mini-fridge in the corner and pulled out a tiny bottle of alcohol.

He walked to the table and placed the tiny bottle of alcohol down on the surface as he pulled off it's cap. And then he saw it..

There, sitting on the table was the photocopy of the engraving with Shooter's note on the back. Mort had thrown it out, though. How was this possible?

Mort picked up the paper and looked at it. There was nothing special about it. Or was there? No.

Suddenly, Mrs. Garvey the came into the room.

"Oh, I found this in trash, Mr. Corso. I thought you might want it so I put it on the table," Mrs. Garvey explained as she rummaged through a cupboard.

That explained one thing, but it still didn't explain the meaning of that stupid message that was written on the back. "Yeah. I see that, Mrs. Garvey," Mort said, doing a gesture that looked like he was shooting her. He really did hate Mrs. Garvey.

Mort sat at the table and looked at the message on the paper, trying to figure it out

_Like our original keepers, after time the holy enriched kindness enters your soul_? Mort asked himself in his head. He read it over and over again. But there was nothing logical about this piece of writing.

Mort read it again, slower. Suddenly, he had it! He jumped up, knocking the tiny bottle of alcohol over.

"Oh Shit! Aw, Sh--" He cried.

Mrs. Garvey came running into the room. "Oh, thank god. From the sound of you I didn't know what to think. Here," Mrs. Garvey said, throwing the photocopy into his hands. "Here, let me get this. That's my job."

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Garvey. I really am," Mort apologized.

"I'll take care of this, Mr. Corso. Go on back to work," Mrs. Garvey insisted, cleaning up the mess with a cloth.

"This isn't mine," Mort suddenly blurted out.

Mrs. Garvey looked up from the mess, "Oh. I thought it was," she said and bent down to clean under the table.

Mort bent down next to her. "No, it's not mine. Look. It says John Shooter right there," Mort said and pointed to the name scrawled on the other side. "John Shooter. It's not me," Mort said, pointing from himself, to the paper, and back again.

Mrs. Garvey looked up from her cleaning once more. "Oh, okie dokie then," she said, and walked away.

Mort was left alone.


	14. Chapter 14

---

14

---

He went into the next room and sat down at a desk. He placed the paper on top of the desk, Shooter's note facing up. Then he placed a blank piece of paper next to it. He took out a pen and wrote down what he had discovered.

When he had finished, he put the pen down and held the new piece of paper with the answer up to his face so he could read it.

It had all been so simple. He didn't know why he hadn't picked it up as soon as he had laid eyes on the disturbed piece of writing. The answer was the first letter of every word. It made a sentence. And that new sentence was going to lead him in the right direction to solving this case-- Or so he hoped.

"Look at the keys," Mort read aloud from the new piece of paper. "Look at the keys..."

Mort rested his head and arms down on the desk and sighed. This sentence made just as little sense as the other one had. He was hopeless.

_What keys_? Mort thought.

"There are no keys!" Mort yelled, and pounded his fist on the desk.

The photocopy fluttered to the floor. It landed with the engraving facing upwards.

Mort lazily reached down for it and picked it up. He placed it back on the desk and looked at the picture. "Keys..," Mort said, seeing keys in the hermit in the picture's hand. "Keys!" He repeated. He stared at the engraving for some moments.

"I'm looking at the keys, Shooter. But I don't see anything special..," Mort said, slightly annoyed at all these riddles.

He looked at the keys once more, stared at them long and hard, then spoke, "The keys.. Hadn't they been in the other hand?" Mort asked aloud. Yes, he remembered looking at this engraving in Balkan's copy of the book and the keys had definitely been held in the opposite hand.

But what did this mean?


	15. Chapter 15

---

15

---

Mort was prancing around in his room, barely dressed. His shirt was unbuttoned and hung open loosely. He was packing a suitcase for his trip to Europe, when there was a knock at the door.

Slightly startled by it, he began to wonder who could it be? Was it Balkan coming back to give him another bogus request? Was it 'John Shooter', coming to accuse him of stealing once more and then leave some more riddles by his doorway? Or perhaps, it was that mysterious girl who had been popping up out of nowhere recently in his life?

He didn't know, and he didn't think that he wanted to find out. Nevertheless, he reluctantly marched over to the door and placed his eye to the peephole.

_Liana Telfer! What could she possibly want from him?_ He thought.

Although he certainly knew what he wanted from her...

He paused for a moment, thought hard, then opened the door.

"May I come in?" She asked, politely.

Mort was more than thrilled to step aside and usher her in. "Mmhmm."

Liana let herself into his room and began removing her scarf from around her neck.

"Please sit down," Mort said, buttoning up his shirt.

She went to the couch, sat as he had told her and crossed her legs seducingly. She had crossed her legs before, but this time there was something different. This time... she was wearing a short skirt.

Mort gulped, trying to fight back the sudden urge he felt to jump her right then and there.

Liana 'admired' his untidy hotel room from the sofa, then spoke. "I've come to talk business," She said.

"Mmhmm," Mort replied again, taking a seat in the armchair across from her.

Liana opened her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She took one out and lit it, then replaced the pack and lighter back into her purse. "Yesterday, when you came to see me about that book, I was too surprised to react as I should have done. I mean, it really was one of my friend's favorites," Liana explained.

"So you said," Mort replied.

"I'd like to get it back for him."

"That could be a problem," Mort replied.

"Not necessarily. It all depends," Liana insisted.

"On what?"

"On you," She replied, a devilish grin appearing over her face.

Mort stared at her, wondering what it would feel like to touch those legs. Those soft, silky legs. "I don't understand, Mrs. Telfer. The book isn't mine to dispose of."

Liana sat back, showing off her superb legs even more. "You work for money, I take it?" She asked.

"What else?" Mort replied.

"I have a great deal of money," Liana explained.

"I'm happy for you," Mort replied, trying to get off the subject before he got to the point of no return.

"You could stage a theft. I imagine your client is well insured," Liana explained.

"I'm a professional, ma'am," Mort stated.

"You're a professional mercenary. Mercenaries work for the highest bidder," Liana said, knowing she would soon break him.

Mort shrugged. "I make a living."

Liana leaned in close to him. "I could throw in a bonus," she said in a soft, sexy voice.

"This has happened before someplace," Mort said, knowing that he desperately wanted to accept her 'bonus', but he had to remain professional.

She leaned back. "I know. In the movies," Liana replied. She had hooked him..

"And she had an automatic in her stocking," Mort said.

Liana looked at him and then he watched, mesmerized, as she very slowly slid her skirt up her thighs to reveal the smooth skin between her stocking tops and garter belt. "No automatic," She said and, just as slowly, smoothed her skirt back down over her thighs.

Mort swallowed hard. He had to get away from her before he got too 'excited'. He stood up and went over to the liquor table in the corner of the room. "Would you like a drink?" Mort asked from over his shoulder.

"Why not?" She said.

Mort poured some liquor into two fancy glasses and brought them back over to the sofa.

Liana sat motionless for an instant and looked up at him. Then, very slowly, she put out her cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. She raised the same hand and placed it on Mort's crotch. Liana moved her hand slowly up and down over it, feeling its hardness.

Mort still had both his hands full with the fancy glasses and was only able to stand there, hypnotized. She had his gaze, withdrew her hand and rose. They were only inches apart now.

She took one of the fancy glasses from his hand and clinked it against Mort's. Then she chugged it. Mort, in a kind of trance, did likewise.

Liana took the glass from his hand and placed it down on the coffee table along with hers. Suddenly, she pulled him in close and began to kiss him madly, her lipstick smearing red all over his mouth. Mort finally responded and lead her backward onto the sofa. He began to push up her skirt, revealing a small tattoo in the shape of a snake devouring its own tail.

Impassioned in his lust, Mort failed to see it.


	16. Chapter 16

---

16

---

Mort lay on his back on the floor, still panting and sweating from his 'ride'. A patch of Liana's red lipstick was smeared all around his mouth. Liana was sitting up. Each had their clothing disheveled and were trying to recover from the brutal actions they'd just performed.

Liana's hand reached across the floor for Mort's book bag. She felt it and picked it up. Then she dumped it out.

The bag contained: A pack of cigarettes, a notebook, an envelope full of money, a Swiss Army knife, a magnifying glass, some pencils, an empty bag of Doritos, etc.

"Okay, where is it?" Liana asked, in a stern, demanding tone.

"Where's what?" Mort asked, either not realizing that he had just been used, or not remembering why she had come there in the first place. Or maybe both.

"Don't fuck with me!" she yelled.

"I thought I already did," Mort replied.

Liana's eyes narrowed. She had pleasured this idiot for nothing! She screamed in rage and went after his face with her nails and teeth. Mort turned his head away just in time and scrambled to his feet, pulling his pants back up.

Liana sprung up from the floor and flew at him with both hands extended like claws. He managed to grab her wrists and hold them. Liana would not give up so easily, though. She plunged her teeth into his chest.

Mort began to scream at the pain, and by accident let go of her wrists. He grabbed his injured chest and staggered backwards, tripping slightly over his pants that had slumped around his ankles.

Liana looked around the room frantically for a weapon of some sort. Suddenly, her eye caught on a nearby empty liquor bottle lying on the coffee table. She grabbed it and advanced on him.

Mort held onto his falling pants with one hand. The other hand he held up in front of him, as if he expected it would block any lashes that came from her. He came shuffling toward her. "Hey, look, be reasonable..." Mort began, but he was cut off as Liana raised the bottle high in the air and smashed it over his head.

Mort slumped backwards against the wall, and dizzily slid down onto the floor. He was knocked out cold.


	17. Chapter 17

---

17

---

Mort awoke on the floor a few hours later. He raised his hand to his throbbing head and felt it. It was cut and there was blood trickling down his face.

He groaned and looked around the room. It had been torn apart, this time much worse than the previous night. And Liana now was nowhere to be found. It had probably been her the other night as well. Funny, he hadn't even thought to place her on his suspect list.

_I guess it's always the last person you think of_, Mort thought.

But, obviously it hadn't occurred to him because Liana hadn't seemed like the type to want to bring up the devil. And why should it? She had mocked him when he had asked her if her friend had attempted to summon the devil. Therefore, it was not his fault that he had failed to see her desire to own the book.

But why did she want it so badly? He had interpreted from Balkan that the book was not working and if Liana had seen the book at her friend's house, surely she would've tried to bring up the devil and saw that it was not working as well. Therefore, if the book was not functioning properly, there should be no reason for her to want it.

Mort thought about the whole puzzle that he had become entangled in. He thought and thought. And he came up with... _Thinking really hurts my head_.

He managed to get up off the floor and make his way to the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror and inspected himself.

Mort grabbed a towel from the rack and rolled it into a ball. Then he turned on the faucet and wet the ball with water. He placed the wet towel ball over the cut on his head. As the towel made contact with the cut it stung a bit and he winced.

Mort left the bathroom and went into the other room, holding the wet ball of towel over his wound. He sat at the desk in the room and pondered. He needed to get the book back from Bernie. It just wasn't safe. He had to hide it somewhere else. Somewhere where... a man he couldn't trust didn't reside.

Mort picked up the phone and punched out Bernie's number. Unfortunately, he got the answering machine. "You have reached Bernie's Rare Books. Please leave your message after the beep..." The recording instructed.

There was a beep.

"Bernie," Mort said into the receiver. But there was no reply on the other line. "You there?" Mort asked. There was no reply.

"Bernie?" He repeated. No reply.

"Pick up," Mort said, annoyed. No reply.

Mort sighed and replaced the receiver. "Fuck," he said simply, and softly. He looked off to the side of the room. There was a window there. Suddenly, for some reason Mort began to have a flashback of his ex-wife.

"Why don't you come to the flea market with me. It'll be fun," Amy said. She was standing near the window in their house and she was wearing his bathrobe. "We've got to get rid of some of this stuff. Look at this, it's awful," She said, picking up a teacup and placing it on a ledge. Then she grabbed a chest of drawers and pushed it aside. "No wonder they left it."

She looked at what had been hidden behind the chest of drawers. "Oh my god, look. There's a window!" She exclaimed, bending down next to it and looking out of it. "It's a secret window," she said, smiling at him. She opened the window, revealing a garden below. "Oh, this is perfect. I'm gonna put my garden right there," Amy said. She turned to Mort, "It's a secret window and it'll look down on a secret garden."

The flashback faded away.

Mort turned away from the window, a bit unnerved. He didn't want to remember anything about Amy.


	18. Chapter 18

---

18

---

Mort took a taxi over to Bernie's place. He looked at the building across the street. It looked dark.

He leaned into the window of the taxi. "Give me a minute. I won't be long. You can take me onto Kennedy."

The Arabic taxi driver looked up at him. "No problem, sir."

Mort nodded and walked across the street to the building. He approached the door. The place seemed to be dark. But he was not about to give up. He needed the book back.

Mort cupped his hands over the door and looked through. He saw a faint glow from a light that was on in the store. That was something, at least.

He tried the door handle. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. Mort entered the dark building and looked around. Only Bernie's desk light was on. There was no sign of Bernie himself.

Mort listened intently, looked up at the top of the spiral staircase in the store, which was in shadow, and called in a low voice, "Bernie?"

There was no response. He listened some more, but there was nothing but the sound of a passing car. "Bernie?" He repeated. He made his way cautiously along the bookcases and rounded a corner, then stopped short with a look of horror on his face.

Bernie had been lashed upside down to the handrail of the spiral staircase. His mouth and eyes were open, and his battered face was streaked with blood.

Oh, no. Mort had seen this somewhere before. The book. Yes. There was an engraving in 'The Nine Gates' which portrayed this exact scene. Things were starting to get freaky now.

"Oh! Jesus!" Mort cried in horror at the sight of his poor dead friend.

Mort extended a hand toward Bernie, but the man was so obviously dead that he withdrew it. He looked around in an involuntary, apprehensive way, wondering if the killer had stuck around. But after seeing no one, he was satisfied that he was alone.

He started to climb the spiral staircase. Uh oh. He had to pass around Bernie's corpse. He didn't want to touch it.

Mort, with great effort, managed to slip around hanging Bernie, and he climbed faster. The staircase creaked and swayed.

He reached the third layer of bookshelves and stopped. Mort carefully grasped a hanging picture on the wall and pulled it away to reveal a hidden compartment in the wall, filled with priceless books. As he laid his eyes upon 'The Nine Gates', he let out a long breath of relief. There it was, safe and sound.

Mort walked out of the shop, across the street and back to the taxi. The taxi driver looked at him and saw the sad look Mort had upon his face. He offered a small smile to Mort. "No problem?" He asked. Mort slowly got into the taxi without saying anything and they were off.


	19. Chapter 19

---

19

---

Mort returned to his hotel room and sat down at the desk. He set his book bag on the surface and opened it. Mort reached his hand inside and pulled out 'The Nine Gates' and a magnifying glass. He set both on the desk and then put his bookbag on the floor.

Mort looked at the book for a few moments and thought about what Liana Telfer had said before. _You could stage a theft. I'm sure your client is well insured._

Mort slid his hand down the book's smooth, black cover. He couldn't do it. He opened the drawer of the desk and pulled out the mysterious paper that 'John Shooter' had left him and set it on the desk's surface next to the book with the side of the engraving facing up.

Mort flipped through the pages of 'The Nine Gates' until he reached the engraving that showed the hermit with the keys in his hand. He picked up the magnifying glass, held it up to his eye, and looked at the hand with the keys from the book. Then he looked at the hand with the keys from the photocopy. The hands were different.

"Shit," Mort muttered aloud. Chico walked into the room and sat by Mort's feet.

Mort re-examined the case one more time just to be sure it wasn't all in his head. Nope. It wasn't all in his head. The hands were different. He closed 'The Nine Gates', rubbed his face and breathed in.

Suddenly, he desperately needed a smoke. He searched through his desk drawer and found an old bag of Doritos. He put the Doritos back inside and closed the drawer and then opened another one. After some rummaging, he turned up a pack of cigarettes.

He glanced towards the doorway and saw no one. He smiled at Chico, then plopped a cigarette into his mouth. "I don't know what I'm doing," Mort said to the dog.

The dog simply stared at him.

Mort became annoyed, "What?" He asked, impatiently.

The dog looked down.

"Mr. Corso!" a woman called from the other room.

"Mmm?" Mort replied, nervously, wondering who was in his room. He lowered the cigarette so it was out of view.

Mrs. Garvey came into the room he was in. Mort eased up a bit in seeing her. But he still didn't want her in his room.

"I'm all done," Mrs. Garvey said.

"Really?" Mort said. Smoke puffed out of his mouth. "So soon?" He asked. He nodded. "I'll see you next time."

"Mr. Corso... There's something I want to say," Mrs. Garvey began.

"Oh, no," Mort muttered.

Mrs. Garvey continued, "Some women don't know a good thing when they got it."

Mort nodded, "Mm."

Mrs. Garvey continued, "Some women don't know that they got the whole world and it's right in front of their nose."

Mort nodded again. "Mmhmm.." He said, quietly.

"There. That's it," Mrs. Garvey said. She began to leave the room, then stopped. She peeked her head into the doorway. "Not another word from me," she said, and left the room. Mort watched her leave bitterly, then resumed smoking.

"Mr. Corso," Mrs. Garvey called again, and came back into the room.

"Hm..?" Mort asked, hiding his cigarette.

"Can I make you something to eat?" Mrs. Garvey asked him.

"No. I ate. Well.. earlier. I'm going to eat later. And I'll make it myself," Mort replied. He wanted her out. Right now!

"You're a good man, Mr. Corso," Mrs. Garvey said, nodding at him.

"You too, Mrs. Garvey," Mort replied. He watched her leave the room again, frowned, and continued his smoke.


	20. Chapter 20

---

20

---

Mort went into the next room, shooing away the smoke from his cigarette. "It's my personal business, Mrs. Garvey. Thank you very much. My personal business," Mort said, angrily as he made his way over to the couch. He looked down and saw that the pillows were out of place. That stupid Mrs. Garvey!

"Oh! My pillows now," He yelled, throwing the pillows off the couch and onto the floor. He lay down on his side on the couch and cringed at the thought of Mrs. Garvey touching his belongings. She was so old. She probably was very dirty... _Oh my god! I bet she doesn't wash her hands after she uses the washroom! _Mort suddenly thought and almost gagged.

"Her sticky weird fingers on my privacy," he muttered.

Mort sighed. "I don't know where to begin in this whole.. mess," he muttered and closed his eyes. He turned so that he was lying on his back. "No idea at all..," he muttered, sleepily. His eyes felt so heavy. He couldn't control them anymore. He began to drift off to sleep.

He started to dream... The door of the hotel room shook and rattled uncontrollably. Then 'John Shooter' stepped into the room in a hazy glow... The phone rang. Mort awoke, forgetting his surroundings and so on. "Wha--? Mm..," He asked in a daze. He sat up wearily and searched for the phone.

The phone rang again. Mort stood up, brought the phone to the couch, lay back down and answered. "Hello?" He said.

"Hello Mort," a female voice said.

Mort groaned, realizing who it was. _Oh god, no._

"Are you alright?" The voice asked.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be alright?" Mort replied.

"I don't know. You're up there all alone. Anything can happen and nobody would know," The voice explained.

"I'd know," Mort assured.

"Right," The voice said restlessly, then sighed. "Hey, hey. How's my little baby puppy? Did Chico ever get those cataracts removed?" She asked.

Mort scowled at her. "Why did you call, Amy? What do you want?" Mort asked, in an annoyed tone.

Amy began to explain the nature for her call, "I had one of those feelings I get. I know you think they're stupid, and you don't believe them but I believe them and um..."

Mort scowled once more and strangled the phone.

"...I was making a sandwich and I had this sensation that you might not be okay. I held off as long as possible, um but then I couldn't anymore so here I am," Amy explained.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you except I'm fine," Mort said.

"Nothing weird happened or anything?" Amy asked.

_Nothing weird?_ Hell, pretty much everything weird was happening ever since he had laid his eyes upon 'The Nine Gates.'

He hesitated before speaking again, but decided that he had to say something. "Do you remember Balkan?" He asked, knowing that Amy knew Balkan fairly well. He had done business with Mort plenty of times while Amy was still married to him.

But Amy responded differently than Mort had expected. "Who?" She asked.

_Was she trying to be cute or did she really not remember Balkan?_

"Boris Balkan. You know, the one who collects books... about the uh.. devil?" Mort explained.

"Not one of my favorite clients of yours..," Amy said.

"That's good to know," Mort said, cynically.

Amy laughed, "Well, he's kind of hostile, don't you think?" Amy asked.

Mort sat up from the couch and grabbed the phone. "Gee, I miss your opinions about my clients, I really do," Mort said, once more cynically. He was feeling in a big ol' cynical mood right now.

"What about the him, Mort?" Amy asked.

Mort went over to the mini fridge. "Well, he um.. he hired me for a new assignment," Mort explained.

"And what's so strange about that?" Amy asked.

Mort returned to the couch with a can of Mountain Dew and dropped the phone on the coffee table. He wiped the can with his sleeve and blew on the top.

"It's really.. complicated. He wants me to investigate one of his books that supposedly raises the devil.. and now everything's going haywire and..," He stopped. Why was he telling this to Amy? She didn't care. And even if she did, it was none of her business anymore. He had no obligation to tell her anything about the whole situation.

"The devil? Mort, what's been happening?" Amy asked, now sounding concerned.

"I don't know," Mort said.

"What do you mean 'You don't know'? Mort. What is wrong?" Amy demanded.

"Look, forget it," Mort said.

"Did something happen to you?" Amy persisted.

"Forget it. Please, please. Just forget it. Come on. How's Ted?" Mort asked, switching the subject. He knew Amy would forget about what Mort had slipped out and go off on him about Ted instead. She always did.

Amy sighed. "He's fine."

"I was thinking that he and I should get together sometime, have a drink because you know, we've been to a lot of the same places," Mort said, smiling.

"You know what? I gotta go," Amy said.

Mort sensed her being uncomfortable and felt good about himself. "So do I."

"Okay."

"Is he there?" Mort asked. He hated Ted. He hated the man who had stolen his wife. One of these days he'd rip Ted a new...

"No. We're not together," Amy said.

Mort was amazed. In his mind he had pictured that Amy and Ted were strutting around his old house naked. Engaging in foul acts on every available surface-- Wait a second.. that was him. Him and Liana yesterday, at least. Boy, was that fun. A smile broke out over Mort's face, remembering the other day.

Then he remembered the lovely souvenirs Liana had ever so kindly left him before she had left. He touched the cut on his head from where she had struck him with the bottle. It still hurt. A lot.

"Wow. Well.. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't on the verge of doing Snoopy dances. Heh," Mort said. Which was the truth. It bugged him inside when he thought of Amy loving a man other than him. But now that Amy and Ted were broken up, perhaps he would be able to get back together with her. But.. he highly doubted that he could. It had taken him months just to be able to stand in the same room as her, therefore he assumed that he'd never be able to love her the same way as he did ever again.

"No, Mort," Amy said and sighed.

Mort became confused. _Hadn't she just said that they were not together?_

He unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it away from his chest and inspected the second souvenir of Liana. A red mark on his chest in the shape of teeth stared out at him. _Damn that Liana!_

"What I meant was, we're not together at the moment. He's coming over later. He hardly ever comes here, I usually go to his house," Amy continued.

Mort buttoned his shirt back up and smiled. "There's a useful detail. Thanks for that," he said in the cynical tone and lay back down on the couch.

Amy looked out the window of the house and saw Ted's car pulling up the drive. Oowee, Teddy was here! "Don't ask, then. It was working just fine that way," She said, annoyed by Mort's tone.

"I think you should have him over to the house more. Such a nice house, I like it, I mean I love it. That's why I bought it," Mort said, cynical as usual.

Ted walked up to the front door of the house and waited for her to answer the door but she was still on the phone with Mort who was being a jerk. What, oh, what could she do?

"Goodbye, Mort," Amy said.

"Goodbye, Amy," Mort said, somewhat sadly. He was so lonely.

Both hung up.

Mort sat up from the couch and placed his head in his hands. "Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid," he scolded.


	21. Chapter 21

---

21

---

Mort decided to take a walk out in some woods located nearby his hotel. So many strange things were happening lately and he really needed to clear his head.

Mort walked down the muddy path in the woods holding a walking stick. He slapped a pesky mosquito attacking his neck, then continued to walk, the bottoms of his pants becoming soaked with mud.

He came to a clearing and stopped suddenly, seeing something odd. There, in the middle of the clearing in the woods, a car was parked. Mort looked at the car confusedly, wondering who's it was and why it was there. Then, his questions were answered.

"You read it?" 'John Shooter' asked, leaning on the car that probably was his.

"I did," Mort replied.

"I imagine you got my little encryption, didn't you?" Shooter asked.

"Oh, I certainly did," Mort replied. He approached Shooter and his car. "Why did you write it?" He asked.

"I thought you'd ask that," Shooter said, sitting down on the hood of his car.

"Well, sure. That's the whole point isn't it? I don't know how you do, but you seem to know a hell of a lot more than I do about the little job I'm on," Mort said.

"I suppose I do. I suppose that's why I came all the way up here from Mississippi."

Mort opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by a passing car on the nearby road that was honking at them. Mort recognized the man in the car as Tom Greenleaf, an old neighbor of his and Amy's when they lived together up in Riverdale. Mort waved at the passing Tom Greenleaf and turned back to Shooter to continue their conversation. But, when Mort looked to Shooter, he was surprised to see the man give Tom a salute as well. Which was completely and utterly strange. Mort's life was slowly making less and less sense with each minute that passed.

"I wrote it because I knew it would put you on the right track to your researchin' of them books," Shooter said. "But how'd you get it? It's what I really want to know. How in the hell did a big money-grabbin' asshole like you get down to a little shitsplat town in Mississippi and steal my goddamn copy of 'The Nine Gates'?"

_Holy Hell. The man was at it again. Enough already with the 'You stole my story' shit. I didn't lay a hand on this guy's god damn fucking book!_

"Drop it," Mort said, simply. Although inside, he was burning with anger. Though, Mort's words seemed to rile up 'John Shooter' just as much as Mort was riled up himself.

"Drop it? Drop it? What in the hell do you mean, Drop it?" Shooter demanded.

"The copy of 'The Nine Gates' that you're accusing me of stealing from you isn't even mine. It belongs to a client of mine. A Mr. Boris Balkan. So, nice try, Mr. Shooter, but if anybody's stolen anything from you, it's him," Mort explained, feeling that Shooter would now understand everything and just leave him alone for once.

But once again, 'John Shooter' surprised Mort Corso by completely acting the opposite of Mort's expectations. "You lie!" He yelled, pinning Mort against the car with great force. So great a force that Mort could feel his arms bruising on impact.

Mort quickly threw the crazy man off of himself. "No I don't!" He yelled back.

"Prove it!" Shooter yelled.

"I don't have to prove a thing to you. Go find out for yourself. Contact my client. He can probably account for the whereabouts of your 'missing book'."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Shooter asked.

"That's not my problem."

"How about I drive down to your house in Riverdale New York and ask your wife Amy about it?" Shooter asked.

Mort fell into a state of complete shock, and it was visible on his face. This guy was totally creeping him out now. "H-How did you know that?" Mort stammered.

"Never mind that. It doesn't matter. Now listen, I'll give you three days to make up your mind. You go fetch my book for me and I'll be back," He said and pulled a pack of cigarettes and a light out from his pocket. He took one of the cigarettes and lit it, then replaced the items back into his pocket.

_Ah, a smoker too_, Mort thought. At least they had one thing in common now.

"Look, Mr. Shooter. I don't know where you got this crazy idea, bu--"

"Maybe my name's not Shooter. Maybe it's something else," Shooter said, a grin spreading over his face and he suddenly appeared very sly looking.

Finally, Mort was getting somewhere. "I see. What's your real name?" He asked.

"I didn't say it wasn't my name. I only said maybe. It doesn't matter anyway."

Mort became annoyed by the crazy man. He wanted him out. Out of his life. For good.

"If I give it to you, will you go back to wherever you came from and leave me alone?" Mort asked.

Shooter took a drag on his cigarette and nodded. "Three days," Shooter repeated, and got back into his car. The car pulled out of the clearing and back onto the nearby road.

Mort stood still and silent, watching as Shooter drove away.


	22. Chapter 22

---

22

---

Mort had returned back to his quarters and sat at the table in his room, thinking. Thinking about everything. Thinking about what he should do. He had made a simple lunch for himself: A sandwich, Doritos, and a glass of milk.

He sat at the table, dog Chico on the floor. The room was filled with the sweet sound of the clock ticking and the faucet leaking. He picked up the sandwich off of his plate sadly. Who was he kidding? He was in no mood to eat. He just wanted to lie down on the couch and fall asleep forever as usual.

He sighed. "I don't know what to do," he said to Chico. Mort slowly got off his chair and went on the floor. He held the sandwich out to the dog. Maybe Chico would be able to eat it.

He lay down next to dog. "I wanna go to sleep, I wanna take a nap. Huh?" Mort said.

The dog replied by eating the sandwich.

"Okay. No nap... I go study some devil crap for a couple of hours.. And then I get to take a nap," Mort said. But obviously, the dog was not really into the mood to listen to Mort's woes. Chico looked away.

"Right? Chico?" Mort asked.

The dog got up and left, heading to the other room. Mort turned his head to the dog. "ChicoOoOoO don't be discouraAaAaAaged!" Mort called, flapping his neck.

The dog walked out and was clearly not coming back. "Alright, go ahead and be discouraged, ya blind bastard. See if I care!" Mort said, getting up off the floor. He unplugged the phone line. He needed a nap and he needed it bad. And there was no one who was going to disturb him when he did it.

He headed to the couch. "And returned to the couch," Mort said, sitting down. He sighed and began to remove his watch. "In shame. Degradation," He continued, placing his watch on the table. He took off his glasses and placed them on the table as well, then bent over and took off his shoes.

He lay down on the couch and sighed once more. "Sloth. Sloth," he said, drifting off to sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

---

23

---

Mort tossed and turned on the couch. He turned to the edge and saw that he was hanging over a waterfall! Shocked at this discovery, he tried to hang on for his life, but slipped and fell off to his doom..

He hit the floor, flustered. It had only been a dream.

Mort pushed back his hair and groaned. He picked up his watch from the table and looked at it. There was something wrong, though. He couldn't see it.

_Oh, that's right.._ He took his glasses from the table and put them on. Mort pushed his hair back out of his face again and looked at the time. A couple of hours had passed. He stood up and took in a deep breath then he made his way over to the sink and filled a glass of water.

He placed the glass up to his mouth to drink, but noticed something strange... The door leading onto the balcony was open and there was something white on the wall blowing in the wind.

He set the glass down on the counter.

Curious, Mort went up closer to get a better look. He opened the door fully and flipped on the light switch, but the light didn't turn on.

_That was strange_. He scowled, and went back inside to get a flashlight.

Returning to the doorway with the flashlight, he examined the balcony light and saw that it had been shattered and there was broken glass on the balcony. He moved the flashlight around and looked elsewhere, then he walked over to the garbage bin and moved the beam across the balcony, searching for... he didn't know yet.

Mort approached the white thing that was fluttering in the wind on the wall. It was a note that was attached. Mort shined the flashlight over it and read:

YOU HAve 3 days i am Not JokiNg NO POLICE

He backed away from the note, feeling a mix of anger and confusion. He didn't like the thought of this 'John Shooter' being in or around his hotel room.

He turned away and headed back to the door to go in. As he walked, he passed the garbage bin again. There was something _off _about it. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but there was something definitely wrong.

On top of the garbage bin, there was a white blanket. It looked like it was covering something. Mort focused the flashlight on it, then turned away, deciding that he didn't want to know what little surprise 'John Shooter' had decided to kindly leave for him along with the note.

But, Mort was a curious one and a curious one liked to know things. No-- _Had_ to know things_. Needed _to know things. And Mort, being a curious one and all had to go along with his suspicion. So, he turned back to the garbage bin and hesitated for a moment, but then finally pulled off the blanket.

And there, staring up at him lifelessly, was a murdered Chico. A screwdriver protruding from his head. Mort fell away, disturbed intensely.

"Oh! Uh. Ho.. uh..," Mort muttered. He looked at his dead best friend, moved his flashlight all around him, as he breathed heavily.

Mort got to his feet, infuriated, terrified, and depressed all at the same time. "Shooter! I'll get you for this! You hear me? I'll get you for this!" Mort yelled into the night sky. He returned inside and locked every possible entry in his hotel room. Satisfied with what he had done, he stood silently and looked around the room.

The sun was coming up now.

Mort returned onto the balcony, grabbed a nearby shovel. He wrapped his best friend up in the blanket and carried him out into the woods where he had previously had his encounter with John Shooter.

Then he buried the dog in the ground with a shovel. When finished, he stuck the shovel into the ground.


	24. Chapter 24

---

24

---

The next day, Mort had to do something. Anything. He was really freaked out by this Shooter guy. If he could kill a dog, there was no doubt that he'd be able to kill Mort.

Mort went over to the local Sheriff's department to discuss his case. Maybe they'd be able to do something for him.

"Chico? He killed Chico?" Sheriff Dave Newsome asked.

"Yeah. Last night, around 9. I was asleep," Mort said as the two walked towards the department building.

"Look, he left this," Mort said, holding out the note John Shooter had left him.

Dave took the note and read it aloud:

"'You have 3 days, I'm not joking. No police'. Hahaha. Anytime somebody sits down and writes 'No police' That's just about exactly the time that a fella should get himself over to the police," Dave said. He opened the door of the building. Mort went in, Dave following.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, that's what I figured," Mort said, still feeling messed up from his recent traumas.

They walked to Dave's desk and Dave sat down. "So what I've got is a detailed description of him, I've got a detailed description of his ca--"

"Type a little harder. You have to get through the carbon," Dave told his secretary.

Mort was shocked at the total and complete rudeness of Dave Newsome, but he kept his mouth shut about it and went on. "You know what, I didn't get the license plate number, but I'm sure they were Mississippi tags. I think that it started with an 'A'.. 'cause that's what I see in my mind," Mort said.

Dave picked up some needlepoint from off his desk. "Needlepoint! Can you believe it? Doc says it's good for the arthritis," Dave said, completely ignoring Mort's fear, and began to do some needlepoint.

"Yeah..," Mort said, using every fiber of his being not to knock that fucking needlepoint out of this geezer's damn old hands.

Mort glanced at Dave's secretary, then finally sat down. "Anyway, anything you can find out about this guy I would really appreciate--" Mort was cut off yet again by idiot Dave Newsome and his 'witty' comments. Oh, how he wanted to smack this bitch upside the head.

"I must cut quite an intimidating law enforcement figure, huh?" Dave remarked, laughing.

"I-I'd like to know what I'm dealing with here, because maybe he's got a violent history.. uh... maybe you find him, you could talk to him. I think that would probably be better," Mort insisted.

"So, you got yourself a member of the crazy folks tribe?" Dave asked.

_Well... that was one way to put it..._

"Yeah.. I mean, they pop up every once in awhile."

The secretary suddenly burst out into laughter on the phone, "Ha ha ha ha haa!" Mort looked at her, annoyed. _Was every employee here a total idiot?_

"Sorry..," The secretary apologized.

Mort smiled at her, then looked away. He grabbed a piece of paper that he had written a description of 'John Shooter' on from his pocket. "Here's the uh..," Mort began. He looked back at the secretary confusedly, becoming slightly flustered at her presence in the room. "...The description."

Dave looked up from his needlepoint. "Killing an animal is not like killing a man. I'm not even sure that it's a crime, come to think of," Dave said.

This blew Mort's mind. "Come on, it's gotta be. What about animal cruelty? What about destruction of private property? What about--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah.. Maybe. Okay. First thing I'm gonna need...," Dave began. He put down his needlepoint and picked up a pen. "Is a description." He looked up at Mort for his response.

Mort looked back at him with complete shock.


	25. Chapter 25

---

25

---

Mort was getting nowhere with anything. He had to forget about his New York mishaps because there was a job to do that wasn't going to complete itself. He needed to track down the other two copies of 'The Nine Gates' for Balkan and it was not going to be an easy job. So, sitting in his hotel room moping would not get him anywhere. He had to get out. He had to _go places_. He had to... _go to Europe_.

_Portugal, here I come_, Mort thought.

He arrived at the airport early the next morning and took the first flight to Spain.


	26. Chapter 26

---

26

---

Walking the streets of Spain, Mort had no idea where to start first. Of course, the probable thing to do would be to head on over to the Portuguese owner of 'The Nine Gates' house. But Mort wanted to do a little research first before he approached the owner.

Passing various shops and stores along the Portuguese street, a particular sign caught his eye.

The sign on the door read: 'HERMANOS CENIZA RESTAURACION DE LIBROS'

Mort approached the shop, opened the door and stepped inside. An old man, Pedro Ceniza, smoking a cigarette, stood behind a desk. "Senor," Pedro said.

"Buenas tardes," Mort said.

"Buenes tardes," Pedro repeated.

"Buenas tardes," a third voice said.

Mort turned to see another old man, Pablo Ceniza surface from behind some stacks of paper. He resembled Pedro so greatly, that they obviously were twins.

"You speak English?" Mort asked. They both nodded at the same time. Mort opened his book bag and pulled out Balkan's copy of 'The Nine Gates' "I'd appreciate your opinion on this," Mort said, holding out the book to the brothers.

Pedro took the book from Mort. Pablo quickly cleared away some papers on the workbench to make room for it. Some ash from Pedro's cigarette fell on the cover.

Pablo quickly blew it off. "What a habit for a bookbinder!" Pablo said, scornfully at his brother's bad habit. He smiled at Mort, "'The Nine Gates'... Superb edition. Very rare," Pablo said.

Pedro opened it. "The Milner copy," Pablo said, admiring the book.

"You used to own it, right?" Mort asked.

"We used to, yes," Pedro replied. "We sold it," Pablo added. "We sold it when the opportunity presented itself. It was too..."

"... too good to miss. An excellent sale," Pablo finished. "An excellent buy - impeccable condition," Pedro said.

"Impeccable. Are you the present owner?" Pablo asked.

Mort shook his head. "No, a client of mine."

"I would never have believed she would part with it," Pablo said, thoughtfully.

"She?" Mort asked, confusedly.

"Senora Corso," Pablo said.

_Senora Corso? What the hell did that mean!_

Desperate for a smoke, Mort reached into his coat pocket and extracted a crumpled

cigarette. He raised it to his lips and suddenly stopped short, produced the equally crumpled pack and offered it to Pedro, who had just discarded his butt.

Pedro helped himself to a crumpled cigarette, and placed it into his mouth. Mort lit the both of them. "I don't understand...," Mort began, but trailed off. "C-Corso is my last name. What do you mean by Senora Corso?" Mort asked, confusedly.

"All we remember of her is that she was tall, thin and had blonde hair," Pedro said.

Tall. Thin. Blonde hair: Amy Corso. Mort's world was crumbling.

"He paid for it," Pablo said, breaking Mort out of his thoughts.

"He?" Mort asked, even more confused now. But then it hit him; _Ted_.

Ted... _Milner_. Ted was the previous owner of the book. That fucking asshole, Ted. He was Liana's _friend_. The _friend_ she had accompanied when he purchased the book.

"It was the senora who made him buy it. He did not seem particularly...," Pedro trailed off.

"..interested," Pablo finished.

Mort had never known Amy to have even been interested in Satan. Mort had never known that the very book he was holding, had been held by his ex-wife as well.

He hesitated briefly before continuing and decided to leave the matter that this was his ex-wife who had been the owner out of it for now and get down to the real issue; The issue that Balkan wanted him to determine. Was this copy real? Or was it a fake?

"Could it be a forgery?" He asked, leaving the millions of questions that he would rather have answered instead of this one back inside his head.

"A forgery?" Pedro asked, surprised that Mort would ever even dare ask something like that. He turned to Pablo, "You heard that, Pablo?"

Pablo wagged his finger in Corso's face, disapprovingly. "I took you for a professional, senor. You speak too lightly of forgeries."

"Far too lightly," Pedro added.

"Forging a book is expensive. Paper of the period, the right inks... Too expensive to be

profitable," Pablo explained.

"Still, it can be done?" Mort asked.

The brothers looked at eachother and nodded. "Of course it can be done," Pedro said. "It requires great skill, naturally, but yes, it can be done," Pedro said.

"Do you think that could be the case here?" Mort persisted.

"What makes you ask?" Pablo asked.

"My client wishes to satisfy himself of the book's authenticity," Mort explained.

The brothers looked at eachother.

"His name is Balkan. Boris Balkan of New York," Mort added.

Pablo and Pedro exchanged another glance. "All books have a destiny of their own," Pedro said.

"Even a life of their own. Senor Balkan must be a collector. He's no fool. He must know this book is authentic," Pablo said. "We know it," Pedro said. "So must he," Pablo said.

"This book was with us for years," Pedro said. "Many years," Pablo added.

"We had ample opportunity to examine it thoroughly. The printing and binding are superb examples of 17th century Venetian craftsmanship." Pedro explained. He took the book and went through the pages under Mort's nose. "Finest rag paper, resistant to the passage of time! None of your modern wood pulp."

"Watermarks, identical shades, ink, type faces... If this is a forgery, or a copy with missing pages restored, it's the work of a master," Pablo explained. "A master," Pedro repeated.

Mort gave a small smile to the brothers. "Yes. Have you studied the engravings? They seem to have some... underlying significance."

Pedro and Pablo reopened the book and looked at the engravings. "But of course... Here, for example," Pedro said, opening the book to an engraving which displayed a peasant man approaching a bridge with two gate towers. Above the towers there were clouds, and nestled inside the clouds there was an archer, aiming his arrow at the unaware marching peasant. Pedro held the book out in front of Mort. "This one can be interpreted as a warning. 'Venture too far' It seems to say, 'and danger will descend on you from above'."

"These types of books often contain little puzzles," Pablo said, giving a small glance to his brother. "Especially in the case of such an illustrious collaborator," Pedro said.

Mort looked at Pedro with sudden interest, then at the book, then back at Pedro. "Collaborator?" He asked.

Pedro shrugged. Pablo stared at Mort. "You cannot have proceeded very far with your research, Senor. Here, look close," Pedro said, holding a magnifying glass over the engraving. "You see? Only six of the nine engravings were signed by Aristide Torchia," Pedro explained. He pointed to the bottom right corner of the engraving.

Mort bent over it, looking mystified. Pedro began to grow impatient. "Yes. And the other three?" Mort asked.

"This is one of them." Pedro said, pointing back to the magnified area of the engraving.

Mort peered through the magnifying glass once more.

And then he saw it. A small lettering in the corner; 'LCF'

"'LCF'?" Mort shook his head and looked up from the book. "Who's 'LCF'?" Mort asked.

"Think," Pedro said.

Mort thought, as instructed. 'LCF'. How the hell was he supposed to know? He didn't have the slightest idea who 'LCF' could b--

"Lucifer?" Mort blurted out.

Both brothers chuckled heartily. "Very perceptive for you, senor. Torchia was burned alive because he wrote this book in collaboration with someone else," Pedro explained.

"You can't honestly believe--"

"The man who wrote this did so in alliance with the Devil and went to the stake for it. Even Hell has its heroes, senor," Pedro said. Both brothers laughed.

Mort looked from one laughing old man to the other, trying to figure this out.


	27. Chapter 27

---

27

---

He left the shop and walked back along the narrow alleyway with canvas-covered scaffolding. He glanced over his shoulder. Not a soul in sight. The canvas flapped in the wind, the scaffolding creaked and groaned, Mort walked on.

Suddenly, there was a sound. He turned his head and looked up to the scaffolding. But there was little time to react: The scaffolding had come away from its mountings. It began to buckle and fall out into the alleyway.

Desperately, he broke into a run. Behind him, collapsing like a set of Dominos, the mass of canvas and metal gained on him as he sprinted for the end of the alley.

The last of the scaffolding hit the ground only inches behind him. He stood, his chest heaving up and down as he looked back at the tangled mess that only seconds ago had been all in one piece. It was a close one. He had just made it.

A thought suddenly entered his head. Just before in the book shop, the engraving he had seen--The peasant man approaching the bridge with two gate towers. And the archer aiming his arrow at the peasant.

"Danger from above," Mort said aloud.


	28. Chapter 28

---

28

---

Mort sat in the deserted dining car of the train he was taking to the Portuguese owner of 'The Nine Gates' house. The only other person there, was a steward who was clearing the plates off the tables and placing them on a trolley.

With a coffee cup and a brandy glass at his elbow, he had 'The Nine Gates' lying open in front of him. Mort got up from his seat, gathered his items into the book bag and left the dining car. Bag on shoulder, he crossed the sliding floorplates that connected one car to another.

He entered the next corridor and stopped short: Standing alone in the corridor, leaning against a window, looking out there was someone. It was the mysterious girl who had been popping up in various places in Mort's life lately.

Mort walked along the corridor. As he passed her, his pace slowed a bit. He paused and turned back. "I've seen you before."

"Have you?" The girl responded with another question.

"Yes."

"Are you traveling in this car?" The girl asked.

"The next one," Mort said, pointing to the next car.

The girl nodded. "The sleeper." She smiled. "I travel on the cheap."

"Are you a student?" Mort asked.

"Something like that," She replied, looked out the window and quickly changed the subject, "I like trains."

"Me too. What's your name?" Mort asked, wanting to know who she really was.

"Guess."

Mort shrugged. A goofy grin came upon his face, "Greeneyes?" He guessed.

"That'll do. What's yours?" The girl said, being as vague as possible.

"Corso," Mort replied.

"Strange name," The girl remarked.

"Italian. It means 'run'."

"You don't look like a runner to me - more the quiet type," The girl said.

There was a brief pause. They both looked at eachother. Mort nodded. "Well, give my regards to Balkan. Tell him I'm doing my best," He said, walking down the rest of the corridor.

"Balkan?" She called to him.

"Fine," Mort muttered. There was something strange about the encounter, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

"See you around, maybe," the girl called.

Mort paused and looked back. She was still leaning against the window, staring out. He nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised," He said and opened the door to the next car.


	29. Chapter 29

---

29

---

Mort arrived at the Fargas house by taxi. The house of the man who owned another of the copies of 'The Nine Gates'. The house of the man who could get Mort on the right track.

He walked up to the front gate and stood by it, unsure of the whole thing. Finally, he pushed open the gate, which made a loud squeak. He looked past and saw a long driveway leading up to the house. As he walked up the drive and to the house, Mort looked at his surroundings.

Dead leaves littered the driveway. Along the sides of the drive, there were crumbling statues, some of which had toppled over onto the long neglected, weed-infested lawn. Mort's footsteps were the only sound. Near the house stood a dried-up, dilapidated fountain. The water of the pond under it was dark, coated with dead leaves and water lilies. The Quinta Fargas was a gloomy, four-square, 18th century mansion.

Mort walked up the steps and tugged the old-fashioned bellpull. A slow, muffled jingling noise sounded when he pulled. A sad noise, indeed.

Mort waited, glanced at his watch. He heard footsteps approach from inside, then the sound of the door being unlocked. Finally, the door opened to reveal Victor Fargas, an old, tall man, porting a drooping white mustache. "Si?" Fargas asked, his voice hinted with a Portuguese accent.

"Mort Corso, Mr. Fargas," Mort introduced.

"Corso, ah yes. Please come in," Fargas said, standing out of the way for Mort to come inside. Fargas lead the way through two reception rooms, once imposing but now entirely bare and empty. Mort observed the patches on the walls that indicated the former location of paintings, curtains, pieces of furniture, etc.

"Home, sweet home!" Fargas said, enthusiastically. He showed Mort into a large evenly furnished drawing room. "You won't say no to a brandy, I take it?" Fargas asked.

"Thank you very much."

Fargas went over to a side table and poured some liquor into two fancy glasses.

Mort, in the meantime, was busy studying the room. At the far end stood a huge open fireplace. There were two mismatching armchairs, a table, some candlesticks, and a violin case. The room was _not totally up to par_.

Fargas came back over with the glasses. Mort put his bag down and took one from him. "Thanks."

He looked at the glasses admiringly, "What Handsome glasses," he remarked.

Fargas sighed. "These are the only ones I have left."

Mort looked around the room once more. "Must have been a beautiful place," Mort said.

"It was... but old families are like ancient civilizations: they wither and die," Fargas explained.

They both toasted their glasses and drank. Fargas gestured for Mort to follow him. Mort followed Fargas into the next room. This room was equally up to par with the other.

Mort looked down. There were books in the room. The books were neatly stacked on the floor in a long row stretching out across almost the entire length of the room.

Fargas pointed down at his collection. "There they are, eight hundred and thirty-four of them. A pity you didn't see them in better times, in their bookcases. I used to have five thousand. These are the survivors," Fargas explained, somewhat saddened by the harsh truth.

Mort bent down over some books and ran his fingers caressing over one. "So this is the Fargas collection? Not quite as I imagined it," Mort said. And it was every bit the truth.

"C'est la vie, my friend. But I keep them in perfect condition, safe from damp, light, heat and rats. I dust and air them every day." Fargas explained. There was a way about his voice that showed that his life was pretty much meaningless and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

"What happened to the rest?" Mort asked, curiously.

Fargas let out a long breath before speaking. "Sacrificed in a good cause. I had to sell them to

preserve the others. Five or six books a year. Almost all the proceeds go to the state in taxes," Fargas explained, sadly.

Mort surveyed the books, fascinated.

"Well. What do you think?" Fargas asked.

"Not bad," Mort said.

"Not bad indeed. These I will never sell. At least ten of them are exceedingly rare. Look, Plancy's 'Dictionary of Hell', first edition, 1842, Leonardo Fioravanti's 'Compendi di Secreti' of 1571... But this is what interests you, no?" Fargas asked, picking up a black book with a gold pentacle on the cover.

_At last! The second copy of 'The Nine Gates'._

Fargas held it out to Mort. He took it carefully and got to his feet.

"And there it is, in perfect condition. it has traveled the world for three-and-a-half centuries, yet it might have been printed yesterday."

Mort took the book over to a window. Fargas followed. "Is it in order? You haven't detected anything unusual?" Mort asked.

"Unusual? No. The text is complete, the engravings too. Nine plus the title page, just as the catalogs state - just like the Kessler in Paris and the Milner in New York," Fargas explained.

"Yes... Well It isn't the Milner anymore. He sold his copy to Boris Balkan," Mort explained.

"Hmm. I've never heard of a Balkan," Fargas said. He reflected for a moment, shook his head and stared at the floor. Suddenly he looked up. "It's strange he should have sent you here though, if he already had...," Fargas broke off as If something had just occurred to him.

He pointed to Mort's bag. "You have it with you? May I see it?" Fargas asked, anxiously.

Mort fetched the book out of his bag, and they walked over to a table. Fargas placed the two copies side by side, and bent over them.

"Ahh.. Superb. Beautiful. Identical. Two of the only three that escaped the flames, reunited for the first time in over three centuries," Fargas said, amazed.

Fargas turned the pages of each book in turn. "Look at this slight imperfection here," Fargas said, pointing to a part of the book.

Mort bent over closer and looked. "The damaged 'S'. The same type, same impression," Fargas said, referring to an area of the book which had a damaged 'S'.

Mort looked from one book to another. Sure enough, both 'S''s were damaged in the exact same way.

Fargas turned both copies over onto their backs, to reveal that one of the copies had a faint brown marking on it. "Incredible. You see? If it weren't for this slight discoloration on the back of my copy, one couldn't tell them apart," Fargas said, pointing.

"If it's all right with you, I'd like to stay awhile and study them in detail," Mort asked, slightly nervous that the man would tell him no.

"What are you looking for, Mr. Corso?" Fargas asked, curiously.

"I'm not quite sure," Mort said, sadly.

Fargas' expression turned somewhat sad. "Some books are dangerous, you know, Mr. Corso. Not to be opened with impunity," Fargas said.

Mort's expression turned equally sad. "Very true."


	30. Chapter 30

---

30

---

Mort sat at a table in a long room in Fargas's house, both copies of 'The Nine Gates' opened in front of him at the engraving of the knight with a finger to his lips.

He looked up to see how Fargas was doing. Fargas was at the opposite end of the long room, sitting with his back turned to Mort in front of a window and staring out of it. He looked to be having a nice time, smoking a cigarette while lounging, and every so often taking a sip of Brandy from a glass on the table placed next to him.

Mort returned his gaze back to the books. He looked the two copies over with his magnifying glass. To him, they looked identical.

He turned several pages in each book until he came to the hermit with the keys, dog and lantern. He compared the two copies. Again, there seemed to be no apparent difference.

Mort turned each book to the third engraving: The peasant man approaching the bridge with two gate towers with the archer in the clouds aiming his arrow at the marching peasant. It was another seemingly identical pair.

He turned back to the last engraving of the hermit with the keys, remembering something.

_That god damn John Shooter!_

Mort looked each engraving over with his magnifying glass. Sure enough, Balkan's copy had the hermit's keys in the right hand. In Fargas' copy, they were in the left.

_So what?_ He knew this already because of the little tip his special friend had left him.

But then, he remembered back at the Ceniza shop: The signature in the corner. _Perhaps that played a role in this as well?_

Mort peered closely, using his magnifying glass, at each signature. Balkan's read 'AT', Fargas's... 'LCF.' Hmmmm...

Mort turned to an engraving of a jester outside a maze with two entrances. Comparison of the two copies revealed that in Fargas's copy one of the doorways was open; in Balkan's it was bricked up. The signatures, too, varied : 'AT.' in one, 'LCF.' in the other. Mort was excited now. "Now we're getting somewhere," He said quietly to himself.

An telephone began to ring from somewhere inside the house. Mort looked up from his work. Fargas didn't seem to hear it.

The telephone rang again. Fargas picked up on something and listened with his head cocked to the side. The telephone continued to ring.

His chair scraped the floorboards as Fargas slowly got to his feet and limped out.

Mort opened his notebook and created a chart that consisted of two horizontal rows of nine boxes. One row was marked 'BALKAN', the other 'FARGAS'.

Mort was busy filling in the boxes with either 'AT.' or 'LCF' when Fargas came back into the room. Mort looked up to see Fargas giving him a friendly nod from the end of the room, and returned to his seat with the window in front and the small table to the side. Mort returned to his notebook and filled in the remaining boxes. Finished, he studied them for a moment, then took a pen and circled all the 'LCF.'s in red.


	31. Chapter 31

---

31

---

The sky was starting to get dark. With his important list completed, Mort bid Fargas a farewell and proceeded with exiting the Fargas grounds.

He walked down the unkempt driveway until he reached the gate. Then he turned around and took one last look at the fallen, broken statues that bordered driveway and the neglected garden and set off down the road toward the lights of the city, which were visible in the distance.

_Then it happened._ He hadn't gotten that far when two headlights suddenly came on in the dark from behind him and the car to which they belonged started up and took off with a squeal of tires.

Mort spun around in awe at what was happening. He dodged behind a tree bordering the road which he had been walking on.

The car hurtled past, just narrowly missing him. Then it skidded to a stop. Mort eyed it from behind his tree, wondering what was about to happen next.

The driver's door opened and a man got out from the car. The man stood in the middle of the road next to the car and glared at Mort.

The noise of a motorcycle became louder as it pulled up some feet behind the car. The motorcyclist, donning a helmet so Mort could not see who it was simply sat on the vibrating bike, staring ahead, probably at the man from the car.

Strangely enough, the man who had just tried to run Mort down returned to his car and took off speeding away as if menaced by the motorcyclist.

The motorcyclist took off after the car. Trembling with shock, Mort watched the tail lights of both vehicles recede into the distance and then disappear. As the motorcycle sped off, Mort could swear he saw some blonde locks peeking out from the motorcyclist's helmet. _Strange_...

Then the road was empty except for a bewildered and flustered Mort Corso


	32. Chapter 32

---

32

---

Mort was still a bit shaken up from his previous happenings, but he had to continue his job for Balkan.

He entered a small hotel in Portugal, walked up to the reception desk and collected his key. Then he set off in the direction of the elevator.

On the way to the elevator, he had to pass through the lounge. As he made his way through the lounge he saw tourists conversing, elderly couples sipping cocktails, and some other people reading newspapers and such.

Continuing to scan the lounge as he made his way for the elevator, he suddenly stopped, noticing something awkward, yet familiar: a pair of legs in jeans and white sneakers were sticking out from behind the fireplace in the far corner of the lounge. Mort furrowed his brow and made his way over to investigate.

The familiar legs belonged to... the girl. She was snuggled up in an armchair with a book on her lap.

Mort hesitated for a moment, thinking that talking to her may not be such a good idea, but then she looked up from her book and saw him and he decided to stay afterall.

"Hi. You didn't say you were bound for Sintra," Mort said.

"Neither did you."

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Reading," The girl replied.

"I can see that," Mort said, slightly annoyed at how vague she was being.

"And bumping into people unexpectedly," She added.

Mort nodded, "Yes. Unexpectedly is right."

"Are you on a business trip?" The girl asked. She then gestured to Mort's book bag. "Is that why you always carry that thing around?"

Mort did not answer the question. Instead, he adjusted his glasses and tried to read the cover of her book. The girl handed it to him. "Is this part of your course?" He asked, looking at the book.

"My course?"

"'Winning friends and influencing people'," He read and handed it back to her. "You said you were a student."

"Did I? _So I am_, in a way." She paused. "I like books. Do you?"

Mort laughed. "You been traveling long?"

She smiled back at him. "A while."

"Mmhmm. I don't suppose you've ever traveled by motor--"

A hotel worker suddenly appeared at his side. "Excuse me, Senor. Telephone call, Senor," The man announced.

Mort was surprised. Who knew that he was here? "For me? Are you sure?" Mort asked.

"Si, Senor. Si, Senor," The man insisted and went back to the reception desk.

Mort followed him without looking back at the girl and picked up the receiver with a puzzled frown. "Yes?" Mort asked, still wondering who could be calling him here.

"Corso?" A male voice said.

Mort was startled upon realizing that it was Balkan on the line. "My god. How'd you find me?" Mort asked, shocked and amazed.

Balkan ignored Mort's question. "Made any progress?"

"Uh... Progress? Yeah. You could call it that."

"Well?" Balkan asked, eagerly.

"I've examined the Fargas copy. It's authentic enough. At least it looks that way. It's like yours. But there are discrepancies," Mort explained.

"Discrepancies?" Balkan asked.

"Uh, the engravings are not identical. It's like keys in different hands, doorways open in one copy and bricked up in the other," Mort explained. "And there's another thing...," Mort began.

"Yes? Yes, go on."

"The ones that differ aren't signed 'Torchia' They're all signed 'LCF.'" Mort explained. There was a moment of silence. "Are you still there? Where are you, anyway?" Mort asked.

"'LCF..." Balkan said, thinking. There was a longer pause. "You must get me that copy, Mr. Corso. Get it for me," Balkan finally replied.

"The old man wouldn't sell it to save his life - he said as much," Mort said.

"Did he?" Balkan asked. There was another long pause.

"Hello?" Mort asked, confused at Balkan's strange behavior. "Hello?"

There was a click and then the line went dead.


	33. Chapter 33

---

33

---

Mort stood in his hotel room, drumming his hands on his thighs. He walked over to the window, hands behind his back, to inspect the scenery. He bent down and looked out the window. The lights of lamp poles illuminated the dark Portuguese city.

He smiled and took the string of the shade. As he touched it, the reflection on the glass of the window changed. _Something had moved in the room._

Mort spun around rapidly and looked around. "Hello?" He called.

The sound of a car pulling out in the parking lot was heard. Mort scanned the room once more. Then he looked out of the window again and saw the car leave. "Shit," Mort said aloud. He walked forward, then stopped. Mort picked up a fire poker from the holder that stood next to the fireplace.

He walked down the room slowly and looked around, but saw nothing, turned and cautiously opened up the door of the next room with the end of the fire poker. He turned on the light switch, and looked around, but again saw nothing.

Mort approached another door, and began opening it with the fire poker, but then heard something from the opposite direction suddenly and jumped. He turned to the bathroom, gulped and moved closer.

He saw a figure in the mirror and became scared.

"I know you're in there, shithead!" Mort yelled to the figure. "If you don't come out by the time.. I count to five... I'm gonna come in swingin'," Mort said and studied the figure in the mirror. There was no doubt about it. 'John Shooter' was in his hotel room.

How he had found out that Mort was in Portugal and how he had even managed to get there with his hick money, though, that was a different story. But Mort wasn't really thinking about that at the moment.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. He was so nervous!

"One, two..." Mort began, then ran into the bathroom, swinging his weapon. "Ahhhhhh!" He yelled, thrashing the poker about. He hit something and there was the sound of smashing.

Mort flipped on the bathroom's light switch and examined his victim. "I killed a mirror," Mort said, realizing how foolish he had been. Then there was a noise. John Shooter was in the shower! How dare he try to take a free shower! Mort would show him...

Mort turned to the shower and began attacking again. "Hu.. uh!" He grunted as he smashed his poker through the shower door. He stopped and looked through the broken glass to see if he had killed the man.

But there was no man. He saw a mouse scamper through the tub and felt even more foolish this time.

"And my shower door..," Mort said sadly.

_I must be going crazy. How could I have thought that the man would follow me all the way to Portugal? The man was nuts, but not _that_ nuts._

He slid open the busted door, looked down at the mouse and sighed. Mort threw down the poker and grabbed a nearby towel. Then he bent over the tub and took the mouse up in the towel. As he straightened out, there was a crash. Mort looked up, frightened, and saw that part of the broken cabinet had fallen.

Mort scoffed and walked past it, heading into the next room. "I'm not paying for that," Mort said aloud. He walked over to the door of the hotel room, but then paused and went over to the desk that his bag sat upon. He pulled out a tattered packet of cigarettes from his bag and held them for a moment, then replaced them into the bag.

He continued back to the doorway, then stopped and came back to the desk. He grabbed the cigarettes, placed one in his mouth and walked out the hotel room door and into the elevator. He pushed the button and it began to descend.

As the elevator reached its destination and the doors opened, Mort made his way through the lobby and outside into the parking lot.

"I don't care. I'm just gonna smoke. I'm just gonna totally smoke. I'll finish these, go to the store and get a brand new pack, smoke the shit out of that one," Mort said, walking through the parking lot until he reached the end, where there was grass and trees.

Mort bent down, released the mouse from the towel into the trees and struck a match on the ground. He lit the cigarette in his mouth.

Mort took a drag on the cigarette and felt much better. _But not for long._


	34. Chapter 34

---

34

---

"Thought you didn't smoke," A male voice, filled with a southern accent asked from the darkness.

Mort calmly threw away the match and did not move, realizing that what he had feared just moments ago was coming true. The man turned out to be a full-blown whack-job afterall.

"I took it up recently for my health," Mort replied, smugly.

"How are you, Mr. Corso?" John Shooter asked.

"Oh, I'm just... Peachy, Mr. Shooter. How are you?" Mort responded.

Shooter did not care to answer Mort's question, though. Instead, he changed the subject. "Well, It sounded like you pitched a fit or something in there," Shooter said. He bent down next to Mort. "I don't think you're really all that well. Stealing from another man, that don't seem to have ever bothered you none. Being caught up on, though," Shooter said.

They both stood up from the ground and faced eachother. "Or maybe it's just that rich bastards like you throw tantrums when things don't go the way they expect," Shooter said.

"How about I share some of my 'rich bastardness' with you. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then, will you then kindly disappear?" Mort asked.

"I don't need yer money, Mr. Corso, if that's what yer tryin' to get at. I just want m'book back. The one you stole. You did steal it. You and me, we know that," Shooter said.

"Okay, then," Mort decided to humor the man. Maybe then he'd go away. And if not.. he could always use force...

Mort looked off to the side and saw a shovel lying on the grass. He slowly backed up towards it, so that he was standing in front of it. Shooter advanced as well.

"What can we do to make you feel better?" Mort asked.

Shooter moved around, and Mort backed away from the shovel. "I want you to fix it," Shooter said.

"What would you like me to fix?" Mort asked.

"My book. The one you stole. I can't decide what's worse. Stealing my book, or not using it properly," Shooter explained.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mort said, which was the truth.

"Oh, I'll bet you do. 'Eight doors come before the Serpent that guards the word, Teth, Enea, Novem, Oded, the number nine, which holds the final secret, the mystery of mysteries. The Serpent is the beast that always sleeps with one eye open and is reflected in the Mirror of Knowledge. Eight engravings plus one, or one plus eight, which coincides with the number that St. John of Patmos attributed to the Beast: 666.' The book is for opening the Ninth Gate and entering the Kingdom of Shadows. You're going to give it to me and I'm going to use it and that's it."

"I'd be more than happy to give you back your book, Mr. Shooter," Mort said, humoring the man.

Satisfied, a smile came over Shooter's face and he turned away. "Saw that wife of yours. She's purty," Shooter said, grinning to himself.

"My wife? Why don't we just leave her out of this?" Mort said, first angry that Shooter was admiring his wife.. or what had _used _to be his wife.. But then he became worried as to how he had seen her.

Shooter turned back to Mort. His tone suddenly became serious. "Would, if I could. But I'm starting to think you ain't going to leave me that option."

Mort had enough now. The man was really disturbing him. Upset, he grabbed the shovel from off the ground and attempted to hit Shooter with it. But Shooter was more powerful than he looked. "Grrrr!" He groaned as he grabbed the shovel with one hand and pinned Mort against a tree with it to his throat.

"You want to wake up from one of your stupid naps and find Amy nailed to your garbage bin? Or turn on the radio some morning and hear she came off second best in a match with a chainsaw you keep out in the shed?" Shooter asked, angrily.

Mort choked in reply.

Shooter released him and he fell to the ground, clutching his throat and gagging.

"Do ye?" Shooter demanded.

Mort choked once more.

"You can't get away with it," Shooter said, walking away down the parking lot. "I know what you did and I ain't quittin'. Until right gets put right. I will open the Ninth Gate."

Mort caught his breath finally on the ground and leaned backwards against a tree, shaken up.


	35. Chapter 35

---

35

---

Mort lay in his bed in the dark room, staring out. He turned on his side thought for some moments. Then he grabbed his glasses from off the nightstand, the bed's blankets and headed into the other room.

He unplugged the phone line. _No late night calls from Balkan tonight_, he thought.

Mort had fallen asleep on the couch after many hours of staring at the ceiling and thinking about all the recent unpleasant events in his life. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. He grunted and propped himself on one elbow.

"Just a minute," Mort called, sleepily.

He rolled off the couch and wrapped the blankets around his bare waist. Then he made his way to the door, opened it. He stood there, a disheveled figure with Liana's teeth marks clearly visible on his chest.

The girl who had been popping into his life lately stood on the other side of the doorway. _What a surprise._

"You unplugged your phone line," The girl said.

"Jesus...," Mort muttered, peering wearily at his watch which he had not taken off before going to sleep either.

"What time is it?" He asked, exhaustedly.

"Early, but you have to go," The girl said.

Mort was bewildered. "Go where?" He asked, confusedly.

"The Fargas place," The girl said.

Mort was in so many ways confused at what she had just said, but let it slip.

"Fargas? I already saw Fargas," Mort explained.

"I think you should see him again," The girl said.

"What is this, some kind of a practical joke? Who the hell are you?" Mort demanded.

She eyed his current state. "Better get dressed. I'll wait for you outside."


	36. Chapter 36

---

36

---

Mort, now dressed, but still looking disheveled, walked out of the hotel to see the girl clad in a large helmet and sitting on a motorcycle, some strands of her long blonde hair peeking out of the bottom of the helmet.

_Strange_... He thought and reluctantly got onto the back of the motorcycle. He was barely on, when she took off speeding. Mort grabbed onto her for dear life.

As they rode down the roads, Mort was having trouble. The girl's helmet was so bulky. He didn't know where to put his head. With all the trouble Mort had on the motorcycle, they had finally arrived at the Fargas place.

Mort and the girl walked in silence up the driveway, with its carpet of dead leaves and avenue of crumbling statues. He eyed her, mystified, as she strode briskly along. With another look at the girl, who remained standing at the foot of the steps, Mort went up to the front door and yanked at the bellpull, producing the same muffled jangling sound as before.

"Don't bother. He isn't there," The girl said.

Mort turned around. "Oh, really. Then where is he?" He asked, sarcastically.

"Over there," the girl said, pointing in the direction of the fountain.

Mort stared at her suspiciously, then walked over to the fountain. He froze, upon seeing Fargas's corpse floating face up among the dead leaves and lily pads. "God Almighty," Mort muttered. He stared for a moment longer before going back to the girl, who was still standing outside the front door. Ignoring her, he tried the handle, but it was locked.

"You want to get inside?" The girl asked.

"I had thought about it, yes."

The girl backed down a few of the stairs and looked the wall over. Then, with unsuspected agility,

she climbed onto a drainpipe beside the door and up onto the balcony above it. One of the windows was broken. She reached inside, released the latch, and disappeared from view.

Mort waited, casting occasional glances at the ornamental fountain and its occupant. There was a rattle of the lock being opened like there had been the other day when Fargas had unlocked the door, and the girl opened the front door from the inside.

"You wait here," Mort ordered. He walked past her and entered the house. He traversed the empty rooms until he reached the room he had been in the other day. The room where Fargas kept his books. The books were lying scattered across the rug, but there was no sign of 'The Nine Gates'.

"Shit!" Mort swore. He looked around helplessly. Then he saw it: There was a fire in the fireplace, and lying open amongst the ashes, charred around the edges, was Fargas's 'Nine Gates'.

Mort ran over quickly, picked up the mutilated volume. He looked at it for a moment, sadly shaking his head, then he placed it in his book bag. He made his way out of the house.

"Well, did you find it?" The girl asked, seeing him emerge.

"You know? It's come to my attention that you know too god damn much. Why do you keep following me around? Who are you working for?" Mort demanded.

"You're wasting time asking all these questions. We'd better get out of here. There's a flight from Portugal to Paris at noon. We should just make it," The girl explained.

"What's with the 'we'?" Mort asked.

"There are two of us, aren't there?" The girl replied.


	37. Chapter 37

---

37

---

Mort sat in his airplane seat, the girl dozing off repeatedly next to him. He looked down at the mysterious creature. "What happened back there?" He asked softly, recalling the dead body of Fargas.

The girl was dozed off so he nudged her. She woke up and sighed. "The old man caught someone stealing, I guess," The girl replied, her voice empty of any tone of recognition.

"What do you guess happened to him?"

"He drowned," The girl replied, simply.

Mort let out a long breath, seeing that there was never a moment that this girl was not on. "With a little help from who?" He questioned.

The girl shrugged. "He's dead. Who cares?" She said, cuddling up against him.

He looked at her strangely, but did not comment on her actions. "I do. I could easily wind up the same way."

"Not with me around to look after you," The girl replied, her voice muffled by Mort's arm.

Mort nodded. "I see then. You're my guardian angel."

"If you say so," The girl replied.

Mort looked around the airplane. "Somebody's playing a game with me."

The girl looked up at him. "Of course. You're a part of it. And you're getting to like it." she said, drowsily. She burrowed herself deeper into his coat and fell asleep.


	38. Chapter 38

---

38

---

Mort made his way across the crowded French airport with the girl trailing along behind him. He glanced back at her occasionally to make sure he had not lost her in the _orgy_ of people. As he came to the immigration control area, he took out his US passport to show it. He looked behind him, expecting to see the girl slowly following after him, but did not see her.

He looked around the crowded airport for her, but there was no sign of her. She had vanished. He shrugged and decided he was better off without her presence. He made his way out of the airport and into one of the many waiting taxis parked in front of the building.

After a short drive, the taxi stopped in front of yet another fancy hotel. This would be his third that week!

He exited the car, handed some money through the window to the driver, headed for the entrance of the building and walked up to the reception desk, and recognized the desk clerk.

"Hello, Gruber," Mort said. He'd stayed at this hotel before and was acquaintances with Gruber, the desk clerk.

The man looked up from his papers, acknowledged Mort's presence with a nod. "Hello, Mr. Corso. Delighted to see you again," Gruber said. He looked at his computer screen and frowned. "We don't have any vacancies, but uh... I'm sure I'll be able to organize something."

"Thank you very much, Gruber," Mort said. He slid a 100 Franc bill across the desk.

Gruber made it vanish and smiled. He looked at the computer screen again. "Oh, I see we have a vacancy afterall." He picked up a key from off the desk and handed it to Mort.

Mort nodded and turned around. He took a step forward, then stopped, turned back to Gruber and pointed a finger at him. "Gruber. I'd like for you to arrange a rental car for me," Mort said.

Gruber nodded. "I'll get on it, sir."


	39. Chapter 39

---

39

---

A bottle of Scotch and a glass stood on the small desk that Mort was occupying. As well as those items, Balkan's 'Nine Gates' and Fargas's charred copy sat open on the desk, in front of him. He took out a cigarette, placed it in his mouth, and lit it. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Mort froze and wondered who it would be this time.

"Monsieur, I have the key for the rental car you wanted for you," A male voice said through the door.

Mort's heart rate slowed. "Oh, come in."

The door slowly opened and a young man entered the room. "Where shall I put the key, Monsieur?" The man asked.

Mort glanced around the room and noticed a key rack on the wall, just next to the door. Mort pointed to the key rack. "Right there."

The man nodded and placed the car key on one of the hooks.

Mort took a drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke. He placed the cigarette back in his mouth. "Thanks," He mumbled with the cigarette in his mouth.

The young man walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Mort looked back down to his work and studied what remained of Fargas's copy. He flipped to the contents page. "Contents.." He said aloud, tracing his finger down the page.

Finding what he was looking for on the contents page, he spoke aloud again. "Eighty-three," he said to himself, flipping the charred pages quickly. "83," he repeated. He flipped some more, then paused. "Eighty-one," He said aloud, and turned the page. "Eighty-two." He looked to the next page. "Ninety-nine."

He looked at the page numbers, flipped backwards, then forwards. "Ninety-nine?" He asked aloud. He turned the book on a slant and saw that there were pages missing from the spine. "You cut it out.." He began.

He traced his finger down the rough spine, thoughtfully. "You son of a bitch." He looked at the open book. "You... cut it.. out of the book.."

_Wait a minute, who did it and how would they?_ A voice from inside his head asked.

"I don't know... But he did it," Mort replied.

_Who? Think about it_, The voice persisted.

Mort shut Fargas's scorched book. "I don't know." He opened Balkan's copy at the same place.

What was missing from the charred copy were the engravings. The hermit with the keys, dog, and lantern among them. The engraving that Shooter had wanted him to look at so badly. The engraving that had given him his first lead on the job. And now it was gone.

Mort chugged his glass of Scotch and leaned back with the cigarette between his lips, thinking hard. He glanced at his watch and stood up.

He was on his way to the bathroom, when the phone rang. Mort groaned and made his way over to the phone. "What fresh Hell." He picked up the receiver. "Yeah?"

"Where have you been all day?" The voice on the other line asked. Mort recognized the voice as that of Boris Balkan.

"Ha, I might ask you the same question. What do you want now?" Mort asked, picking up the whole phone.

He went into the bathroom and dropped the phone on the floor. It made a little ringing noise.

"Relax. You're going to meet me at Bowie's Store tomorrow. I want to see how you're coming along on my job." Balkan said.

"Yeah?" Mort asked, placing his cigarette in his mouth and then unzipping his fly. "Well I've got big problems, Balkan. This crazy guy showed up and he's been interfering with my work," Mort explained, pushing his hair back and urinating in the toilet.

"Oh, really?" Balkan asked. "Well, did you get the Fargas copy?"

Mort scoffed. He said that he was having a major problem and all Balkan could think about was that goddamn book. If Balkan wasn't loaded with green, Mort would so beat his ass.

"Well, the worst part is, I had a chance to get the book out, but it went up in smoke. It's still readable, but it's burned badly. And, Fargas. He's dead now. So do you still wanna go through with it?"

There was a long pause. Mort was becoming impatient. He zipped up his fly and flushed the toilet.

"Mr. Corso. Did I just hear a toilet flush?" Balkan finally asked.

Mort smiled a big goofy grin and picked up the phone. He walked out of the bathroom and sat down on the couch once more. "No," He lied.

Mort heard Balkan let out a long sigh. "You are to get the final copy of 'The Nine Gates' for me. I've arranged an appointment with the owner, Baroness Kessler, for tomorrow."

Mort shook his head. _It's always business with Boris Balkan_. "I'll attend the meeting, but I can't guarantee that I'll get the book," Mort said. He removed his cigarette from his mouth and held it between his fingers, blew out some smoke.

"You will get it," Balkan said sternly.

Mort sighed. Fine, whatever it would take to please the fucker.

"Okay. I'll get it for you," Mort said, putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

"I knew there was a reason that I hired you," Balkan said.

"Alright," Mort replied, knowing that this was the nicest thing Balkan had ever said to him.

"Bring the two books. Nine P.M. sharp," Balkan instructed.

"Alright. I'll see you there," Mort replied, puffing out smoke.

"And bring your six-gun, pilgrim," Balkan added and then hung up.

Mort took the receiver away from his ear, looked at it suspiciously then replaced it. He gulped. "What the fuck is a six-gun?" He finally asked, aloud. He stood up, stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and made his way over to the bed. He lay down, sadly thinking.

He placed his hands behind his neck and thought for another moment before sitting up. He flexed his jaw and scowled. "Oh, Shit," He said aloud, got out of the bed and made his way to the wardrobe. He opened it and pulled out his trusty old bathrobe.


	40. Chapter 40

---

40

---

Light poured through the window of the room and the clock ticked. Mort had fallen asleep on the couch rather than the bed where he should have been.

He stirred, then stretched, then woke up and glanced at his watch. "Shit!" He yelled, jumping up from the couch. He looked around and spotted his coat and book bag on the floor. As he put the coat on, he noticed that his car key was missing from the key rack on the wall. He looked at it suspiciously. He could've sworn that the young man from the hotel had placed it on the key rack the other night.

Nevertheless, he patted himself down, but returned no key from his search. He grabbed his book bag from off the floor and placed it on his shoulder. Mort opened the door of his suite to reveal Shooter's hat lying on the floor in front. He looked around trying to spot Shooter, but did not see him.

He went back into the room, opened a garbage bag and returned to the plain black hat that sat on the floor. He looked at the hat. _Was it grinning at him? _Hold on, a hat grinning at him? What the fuck had he been smoking the other night! The hat didn't even have a mouth to grin from even if it could.

He shook off his paranoia and quickly encased the hat in garbage bag, being ever so careful not to let any part of it make direct contact with his skin. Then he stepped back into the room and placed the bag with the hat on the coffee table. After, he left his hotel room, went down to the lobby, walked out of the hotel and made his way through the hotel parking lot.

A constant sound of beeping was coming from nearby.

The driver's door of a car was wide open. That was the car that was beeping away. He looked around, then walked over to the car. He just knew that this had to be his rental car.

He approached slowly, then sat in the driver's seat, being careful to touch nothing. He quickly shut off the motor. _Aha!_ He had found his key at least.

Mort looked around the car, then spotted some cigarette butts in the ashtray. He eyed them carefully, then picked one up. He studied it, recognizing the brand immediately. "Pall Mall," He said aloud.

He replaced the butt. "Cracker bastard."


	41. Chapter 41

---

41

---

Mort refused to touch the contaminated car any further. He went back to his constant use of taxis and regretted ever even thinking that he should use a rental car. He certainly would never do it again... _Unless he felt like it_.

He got out of the taxi and paid the driver, all the while feeling somewhat fulfilled by the old motion that he was so used to.

He walked up to the entrance of a tall, well-preserved building. A grim-faced concierge sat in her cubby-hole. She eyed Mort suspiciously as he entered the lobby. "Monsieur?" The concierge spoke.

"Bonjour, Madame. Le Fondation Kessler, s'il vous plait." Mort said.

"Derniere etage," The woman instructed.

Mort nodded and made his way up the stairs. He pressed the door-bell and was buzzed in. He opened the door and stepped in to see a big-bosomed, middle-aged woman with scraped-back hair. If he didn't know any better, Mort would've thought her to be a man.

She looked up from her paperwork, sensing his presence, and eyed him suspiciously as well.

_What's wrong with these French women? Have they never seen a man before in their lives? _Mort thought.

He approached the secretary and spoke. "Good afternoon. I'm Mort Corso. I have an appointment with Baroness Kessler."

After consulting her appointments book and watch, the secretary slowly rose. "This way," She said, her voice filled with French accent. She walked ahead of Mort down a paneled corridor and stopped outside a heavy wooden door. She turned to Mort. "You have thirty minutes."

Then she knocked on the door and opened it.


	42. Chapter 42

---

42

---

Mort followed the manly secretary inside the luxurious room.

"Yes?" Baroness Kessler, an elegant little white-haired old lady asked, turning her electric wheelchair to face them.

"Monsieur Corso," The secretary said.

"Oh, yes. Mr. Corso. Come in. I've heard a great deal about you," She spoke with a pronounced accent as well, but hers was German.

She approached with her left hand extended. Mort saw that her right arm had been amputated at the elbow. "Nothing good, I hope," He said, smiling at her. They shook hands.

"You hope right," She replied to Mort.

"Merci, Simone," The Baroness said to her secretary. The secretary exited the room, closing the door behind her.

"Well, I'm reassured, Baroness. Because in my trade, to be spoken well of can be professionally disastrous," Mort said, dryly. He surveyed the room. Visible through some open double doors on the right was a vast library. He focused on it. The Baroness followed the direction of his gaze. He let out a long breath. "My god."

"Yes, there it is: The Kessler Collection," The Baroness said.

"You know, I know your catalog almost by heart," Mort said, still looking at the library

"Strange we haven't met before. Your name is a byword among dealers and collectors but I imagine you know your own reputation better than I do."

Mort smiled and turned back to the Baroness. "Yes. Well, it does keep the wolf from the door, so to speak," He smiled at her and changed the subject. "I'm sorry, Baroness, were you in the middle of something?"

The Baroness beckoned him over to her desk. Mort looked at the array of books and papers.

"My latest work: 'The Devil: History and Myth' - a kind of biography. It will be published early next year," The Baroness said somewhat proudly.

"Why the Devil?" Mort asked, still finding the whole devil thing to be rather absurd.

Baroness Kessler laughed lightly at his question. "I saw him one day. I was fifteen years old, and I saw him as plain as I see you now; It was love at first sight," The Baroness explained, a smile upon her old face as she recalled the memory in her head.

Mort chuckled, doing his best to charm the old lady. "You know, three hundred years ago they'd have burned you at the stake for saying that," He said.

"Three hundred years ago I wouldn't have said it," The Baroness replied. They both laughed. "Nor would I have made a million by writing about it," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Yeah," He agreed.

But then her tone changed and the smile wiped off her face. "What is it you wish to discuss, Mr. Corso?"

Mort adjusted his glasses and tried his best to be as subtle as possible. "There's a book in your collection I'd like to examine, if possible."

The Baroness smiled at him as if it was already obvious.

"It's 'The Book of the Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows'," Mort continued.

The Baroness was unsurprised. "The Nine Gates? An interesting work. Everyone's been asking about it lately."

Mort stiffened. "Is that so?"

The Baroness eyed him for a moment. "Follow me," She finally said, swinging her wheelchair around. She steered it toward the double doors and into the library beyond them. Mort followed.

"You truly believe in the Devil, Baroness?" Mort asked.

"Enough to devote my life and my library to him, not to mention many years of work. Don't you?" The Baroness asked.

"Almost," Mort replied.

Baroness Kessler looked mildly amused. She sent her wheelchair gliding over to a bookshelf and removed the third copy of 'The Nine Gates'. "This book demands a certain amount of faith," The Baroness explained.

"My faith is in short supply," Mort replied.

They both went over to a small table in the center of the room. Baroness Kessler opened the book and turned a few pages. There were handwritten slips of paper inserted throughout. "I know this book extremely well. I studied it for years," She explained.

"Do you have any doubts about its authenticity?" Mort asked.

The Baroness threw him yet another suspicious glance. The third one that day. _Strike three, he's out._

"None whatsoever," The Baroness said to him confidently.

"You're sure?" Mort persisted.

"My knowledge of this book is profound. I wrote a biography of its author," The Baroness replied.

"Yes I read it. 'Aristide Torchia - The Devil's Apprentice'. Excellent."

"A courageous man. He died for the sake of this very book in 1667. While studying the black arts in Prague, he acquired a copy of the dreaded 'Delomelanicon'. This is Torchia's adaptation of that work, which was written by Lucifer himself. After they burned him at the stake, a secret society was founded to perpetuate its memory and preserve its secrets: The Order of the Silver Serpent," The Baroness explained.

"A sect?" Mort asked, becoming confused all over again.

"Yes, a kind of witches' coven. For centuries they have met to read from this book and worship the Prince of Darkness. Today they've degenerated into a social club for bored millionaires and celebrities who use its meetings as an excuse to indulge their jaded sexual appetites. I myself belonged to the Order years ago, but time is too precious at my age. Besides, my orgy days are over." She explained.

"I told them to go to the Devil." She added, giggling at her own little joke. Mort laughed as well.

"You mean it's all about sex or...?" Mort asked, thinking that he was getting back on track now.

"Of course not. They're under the illusion that they owe their money and their success to membership of the Order," The Baroness confirmed.

"Do they still meet?"

"Every year, on the anniversary of Torchia's death. That'll be very soon now."

"And you say they read from this book?" Mort asked, staring from the book to the Baroness.

"Not this one, I took mine back when Ted Milner acquired the one in Toledo. Victor Fargas is an unbeliever - he's always refused to participate, so naturally they use the Milner copy." She paused. "Not that it has ever worked. It never does, to be honest," She added.

"So did Mr. Milner ever take part?" Mort asked.

"Milner? No, no. That creature married him for his money. She used his dollars to buy the book and renovate her chateau. Her family was a high believer of witchcraft," The Baroness explained.

It hit him like a brick wall. Mort had just talked to Amy recently. She had mentioned nothing of her marriage to Ted Milner. Or a chateau. Or fucking witchcraft. Only six months away from him and she's already married. _That fucking bitch._

There was a brief silence and Mort looked stunned for a moment. "I see," He finally responded. "And what about a John Shooter? Does he attend these rituals as well?" Mort asked.

She looked at him strangely. "I'm sorry but I do not know of that name," She told him.

"But surely, Baroness, you must've heard of him at one time or another with all the research you've done concerning the Devil."

The Baroness threw him a look. "Who exactly are you working for, Mr. Corso?" She asked.

"My client's name is irrelevant, Baroness. I'm simply trying to authenticate his copy - the one Milner sold him."

The Baroness caught on. "How stupid of me! I should have guessed!" Angry now, she swung her wheelchair around to face him full on. "You've outstayed your welcome, Mr. Corso."

"I was hoping to examine your copy in detail."

"Certainly not! Tell your client to come and examine it himself - if he dares. Tell him not to send any more wolves in sheeps' clothing. Now, kindly leave," she said, pointing to the door with her stump.

He looked down sadly. "I'm sorry if I've troubled you. Thank you very much for your time."

Her wheelchair hummed as she lead Mort out through the office. He opened the door to the corridor.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Mr. Corso. Get out before it's too late," She said.

Mort looked at her sadly. "I'm afraid it already is."


	43. Chapter 43

---

43

---

He walked back along the corridor. The secretary, who had been peeling an orange, unsuccessfully hid it below desk level and gave him a curt nod as he passed and emerged from the building. As he did so he caught sight of a peculiar person leaning against a lamp pole across the street.

The person caught sight of Mort as well and straightened up. Mort, with his eye on him, began walking. The person began walking as well, keeping level with him on the other side of the street.

Mort came to a place called 'Magasin Bowie'. _Wasn't this the place that he was supposed to meet Balkan at?_

He quickly tried to open the door, but it would not budge. Mort turned around and saw the figure staring at him from across the street. He became nervous. He tried the other door and it opened. Turned out Mort was just an idiot.

He quickly disappeared into the entrance of 'Magasin Bowie', the door slamming behind him as he entered. Everyone in the store looked at him.

"Sorry.." He apologized and walked to the store's aisles. "Balkan?" He called.

He walked to a different aisle. "Boris?" But no one appeared. He went up to the counter, sat at a stool, and threw his book bag on the counter.

The man sitting to his side gave him a dirty look and Mort got the message. He moved his bag down to the stool next to him.

He pushed up his sleeve and looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. Mort sighed. He looked around the store and noticed the busboy opening a box of Pall Mall's.

The boy saw Mort staring. "Voulez-vous un paquet?", the boy asked, his mouth full of food as he spoke.

Mort was caught offguard. He looked at the boy. "Je ne fume pas."

A lady came with a pot of coffee and poured it into a cup that she put down in front of Mort. Mort watched her as she did so. Then spoke, "Did a guy come in here looking for me around 9 o'clock?"

The lady looked up at him. He read her name tag. Her name was Greta.

"Non," she said, shaking her head.

_Thanks a lot, Greta_. Mort thought.

"Big guy.. kind of a book nerd type?" Mort persisted.

Greta looked back up. "Non.. non. That doesn't ring un bell," She said with her French accent.

"I lost track of time," Mort added.

"Well, maybe he did too. 'Cause he wasn't here," She explained.

Mort nodded slowly, taking in what she had just told him. "Yeah.."


	44. Chapter 44

---

44

---

Mort grabbed his book bag, got up from the counter area and made his way over to one of the tables. He sat down and ordered a drink.

He glanced out of the window that stood next to him and saw the peculiar man leaning against the lamp pole once again. The man from across the street lit a cigarette, never taking his eyes off of Mort.

Mort decided that he'd wait it out and maybe the man would _kindly disappear_.

The time passed...

Mort was still sitting at his table, which now had several checks on it. The lights came on, blotting out his view of the street through the window. All he could see now was a reflection of the store's interior, including his own seated figure.

He drummed on the table impatiently, glanced at his watch. He couldn't stay any longer. Mort added up his checks and placed some money on the table. Then, placing his bag on his shoulder, made for the door.

He took in a deep breath, held it in, opened the door and stood in the doorway, peering across the street. Luckily, he saw no sign of the man and let out his breath.

Mort walked down the sidewalk glancing across the street, looking at the lamp pole which had previously been occupied by the peculiar figure. Mort continued along the sidewalk, glancing around his surroundings as he did so. Then, over his shoulder, he caught sight of a dark colored car crawling along the curb some twenty yards behind him.

On impulse, he darted across the street to the lamp pole and began down a flight of steps. The car's headlights blazed. It accelerated, tires squealing, and swerved across the one-way street in pursuit.

Mort raced down the steps, hearing the car skid to a halt, and sprinted off along the lower area with his coat flapping and shoulder bag bumping against his body. A couple of hundred yards along, he began to tire out and his running slowed. He turned to look: there was no sign of anyone, no sound of pursuing footsteps, no sign of anything.

Relieved but still wary, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath and light a cigarette. Then,

with a final backward look, he began up the next flight of steps.

He was halfway up them when a tall, menacing figure appeared at the top. Mort turned to flee, but the man was too quick for him. He darted down the steps and hit the retreating Mort in the back of the head.

Mort missed the last couple of steps and landed face down on the ground, his glasses flying off his face and landing on the ground as well as his cigarette. The man was on him in a flash. He bent down and yanked the strap of the bag off his shoulder. Mort resisted, hugging the bag protectively.

The man kicked him in the stomach and Mort doubled up and hung onto the bag for dear life. As he lay there with the man kicking him repeatedly and tugging at the strap, he saw, silhouetted against the yellowish, misty glow of the nearest streetlight, a ghostly figure flying down the steps.

It was the girl.

The man had finally gotten the bag away from Mort and just as he straightened up and turned to go, the girl performed a flying leap and kicked him in the face. He grunted and went sprawling on his back, dropping the bag. The girl stooped over to retrieve the bag.

Mort was beating the man up on the ground, throwing punches and hitting him and whatsoever in the meantime.

The man grabbed Mort's arm and Mort sunk his teeth into the his hand. _Thanks Liana_, he thought.

The man pulled his injured hand away from Mort and hit him. Mort's hand went backwards and hit the girl in the nose. Blood began to pour from it. He looked up at her in shock, not able to believe what he had done.

She covered her nose with her hand. Mort was still looking at her, mesmerized. The man took the chance, tackled Mort, and got to his feet.

The girl reacted like lightning, kicking him in his manhood. He yelped and crouched onto the ground, holding his manly parts. Then, with a spin kick, she got him once more in the face this time. He lay on the ground, spitting blood and glaring up at her.

The girl turned around to retrieve Mort's precious book bag, containing two of the three copies of 'The Nine Gates'. Mort struggled to his feet. Beyond her, he had seen the man getting up and making for the steps.

Mort chased after him and ran over to the stairs. There was a crunching noise as Mort stepped on one of the lenses of his own glasses that were lying on the ground. He did not notice it, though, and kept running.

The girl slowly turned around and watched as Mort started up the steps, and managed to grab

one of the man's legs. But the man kicked himself free, leaving Mort with his shoe, and continued up the steps with Mort clumsily following a few feet behind.

Waiting at the top of the steps, with the passenger door open, was the dark car. Mort reached the street level in time to catch a glimpse of the man in the light. It was John Shooter. He had been fighting with John Shooter some moments ago. And John Shooter had won. John Shooter had taken his book bag.

Mort threw himself onto the sidewalk and sat down, gripping his head in his hands. All that work. For nothing.

The girl calmly climbed the last few steps. She took his book bag that she had salvaged and dropped it into his lap.

He looked at her, amazed. John Shooter had not gotten away with it, afterall. She held out her hand to him. He moved his head up and looked at her hand which was holding his glasses.

Mort slowly took the broken glasses and put them on. One of the lenses was shattered and one side of the frame was irregularly bent, so it did not curl around his ear. Instead it stood out, away from his face.

"They're broken. You should be more careful," The girl said. She looked at Mort who was breathing heavily. He stared at her. She couldn't help but find his new look comical.

He looked back at the girl and noticed that her nose was bleeding. She wiped it on her sleeve. Mort reached his hand into his bag and pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it to her and she took it and dabbed at her nose with it.


	45. Chapter 45

---

45

---

Mort went up to the reception desk of the hotel that he was staying at. He was pleased to see that Gruber was on duty. "I need a favor, Gruber," Mort said.

Gruber looked up from his paperwork to see a disheveled Mort Corso with a broken pair of glasses and a mysterious girl standing behind him. "Certainly, Mr. Corso," Gruber replied, acting as though there was nothing wrong with Mort's strange appearance at all.

"I want you to look up a Ted and Amy Milner."

Gruber wrote the info down on a pad of paper.

"I want to know if they're staying at some hotel here in Paris," Mort added.

"It could take a little time, sir," Gruber replied.

"Of course. Start with the five-stars. They're your best bet," Mort said.

"Very good, sir," Gruber said, taking down a few more notes on the pad. He paused. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I've felt better. Thanks, Gruber. Let me know if you locate them," Mort replied.

Gruber watched as Mort and the girl walked to the elevators.

When they arrived in his room, Mort filled a bag with ice from a tray in the minibar as the girl sat on the bed with her head tilted back and Mort's bloodstained handkerchief to her nose.

"Put this against the back of your neck," Mort said, sitting down beside her and handing her the improvised ice pack.

She applied it to the nape of her neck, lay back and shut her eyes.

"You were great down there by the way. I haven't thanked you for that," Mort said.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"Like to tell me what's going on?" Mort asked.

The girl shrugged. "Someone's after your book."

Mort sighed. She was a nice girl, but he really hated her vagueness about everything.

"They didn't have to kill Fargas to get it. They didn't have to mutilate his copy, either. They tore out the engravings and ditched the rest. There's got to be more to it than that," Mort explained.

Her nose had stopped bleeding. "Do you believe in the Devil, Corso?" She asked.

"I'm being paid to. Do you?" Mort replied.

The girl smiled. "I'm a bit of a devil myself..."

She reached up, removed his glasses, and placed them on the bedside table. Mort eyed her uncertainly.

Her nose began to bleed again.

She put her fingertips to it and inspected the blood on them. Then she put them in the blood some more, reached up, and gently drew four vertical lines down his face from forehead to mouth, where her fingertips lingered.

Mort's face approached hers. They melted into a passionate kiss. Then she pushed him away and down on the bed roughly.

He looked up at her, confusedly.

She looked down at him and began to unbutton his shirt. She parted it away from his chest and rested her palms on it. Playfully, she ran her finger over the imprint of Liana's teeth.

The girl smiled mischievously. "Would you know a devil if you saw one?"


	46. Chapter 46

---

46

---

Mort, tieless and unshaven, the vertical lines of blood on his forehead, now somewhat smudged though, descended the stairs to the lobby carrying his bag. The assistant desk clerk was dozing on a chair behind the reception desk.

Mort approached the desk and knocked on the wood surface. The man still slept. He tapped the bell loudly and the sleeping clerk sprung to his feet. Mort nudged his head in the direction of the open door that stood behind the desk. "Do you have a photocopier machine back there?" He asked.

"Er, yes, Monsieur," The clerk replied.

"May I use it?" Mort asked.

"Are you a guest, Monsieur?" He asked.

"You mean I don't look like one?" Mort asked.

"Of course, Monsieur. This way, Monsieur," The clerk said, ushering him behind the desk and into the room.

"Get them to send up breakfast for two. Room 35," Mort told the clerk.

The clerk nodded and left Mort alone. Mort placed his book bag beside the photocopier and took out Balkan's 'Nine Gates'. He opened it at the first engraving - The knight with a finger to his lips - and inverted it. Positioning it on the photocopier, he shut the flap and pressed the start button. The photocopy glided out into the tray.

After making photocopies of all the engravings, he returned to his room. He entered quietly closing the door behind him. He looked to the bed to see the girl lying sprawled across the bed, fast asleep.

He grabbed a towel from off a nearby side table.

Mort crouched down in front of a floor cabinet. He put his book bag down on the floor next to him and the towel on top of it. Then he opened the door of the cabinet. He saw a tray holding two fancy glasses lying on top of the minibar.

Mort carefully lifted the tray with the glasses off of the minibar and placed it on the ground next to his bag. He turned around and saw the girl still asleep on the bed.

He turned back to the minibar and pulled it out a bit. Then he took Balkan's 'Nine Gates' from his bag and neatly wrapped it in the towel. He hid it behind the minibar and glanced around once more to make sure the girl was still asleep. He then pushed the minibar back into place and put the tray with the glasses back on top of it.

He closed the cabinet, picked up his bag and stood up. He made his way to the bathroom. Mort, with his hair damp from the shower and a towel around his waist, was halfway through shaving when there was a knock on the bathroom door.

One cheek covered with shaving cream, he opened it to find himself confronted by a floor waiter, check pad and pen in hand.

"Bonjour, Monsieur. Votre petit dejeuner," The man said.

"Oh. Sure," Mort said, taking the check pad. He emerged into the bedroom and scribbled his signature, then stopped suddenly. There was a breakfast cart in the middle of the room, holding two platters, but the bed was empty.

Mort furrowed his brow. "Where is she?" He asked.

"Pardon?" The waiter asked.

"Monsieur, ou est elle?" He asked.

"Je ne sais pas, Monsieur," The waiter replied. He walked to the door and left.

Mort caught hold of the door just as it was closing. He put his head out into the corridor, and looked right and left. But there was no one in sight except the floor waiter, who cast a puzzled glance over his shoulder as he walked off.

Mort stepped back into the bedroom and shut the door. He stood there for a moment, frowning at the empty bed. Then, suddenly he dashed over to the minibar and looked behind it. He was thrilled to see that 'The Nine Gates' was still there.

Just then the phone rang. He picked up the receiver and put it to his ear on the shaven side of his face. "Yes?" Mort asked.

"Hello, Mr. Corso," Balkan replied.


	47. Chapter 47

---

47

---

Mort, still standing in the middle of his hotel room in nothing but a towel with half of his face covered in shaving cream sighed upon hearing Balkan's voice. He'd grown to loathe the man.

"Problems?" Balkan asked.

Mort raised an eyebrow. Since when did Balkan want to hear of Mort's problems?

"Yeah, someone tried to total me a couple times. Aside from that, did you know that two people have died on me since I took this job now?"

"I don't follow you," Balkan replied.

"It's simple enough. You give me 'The Nine Gates' and they start dropping like flies. You know, I'm thinking of giving it back," Mort explained.

"Who are you talking about?" Balkan asked.

"My pal Bernie Feldman, for one," Mort replied.

"The book dealer? He's dead too?" Balkan asked, sounding somewhat interested in the situation.

"Yeah. Murdered. He was holding your book for me. Someone was after it. He wouldn't give it to them," Mort explained.

There was a moment of silence. Then Mort could hear Balkan on the other line lightly chuckling. The chuckle became stronger and then he was laughing. The laugh gave way to peal after peal of uproarious laughter. Mort stood, staring blankly at the hotel room wall, waiting for Balkan to finish. Balkan's laughter gradually became less and less.

Still chuckling, lightly, Balkan spoke up. "Poor fellow. Very creditable of him."

Mort refrained from commenting on the outburst. "Then there's Fargas. But I already told you about him."

"Yes. A terrible loss," Balkan said with little sympathy in his voice. "What about the Kessler copy? You went to the meeting I set up, surely."

"The old woman says it's authentic, but I didn't get a chance to look at it closely. As soon as she guessed you were behind my visit she threw me out. You aren't her flavor of the month," Mort explained.

"You must see her again. You must get me that copy," He persisted. His tone of voice then changed to something a bit sad. "You must examine it, at least."

"Are you kidding? I'd have to be the Invisible Man. She threw me out last time like a bag of trash," Mort said.

"You can do it. I'm counting on you, Mr. Corso," Balkan replied.

"Hey, speaking of my meeting, where were you yesterday? You never showed up for ours," Mort said. He heard a click and then the dial tone. Balkan had hung up. Mort shrugged and replaced the receiver. He pushed back his hair and took a step forward.

The phone rang. Mort stopped in his tracks, turned around, and stared at the phone which was covered by Shooter's hat which was now not encased in the garbage bag as it had been before.

He realized that was the reason he had not recognized Shooter at first during their little brawl earlier.

The phone rang again. He sat on the couch and took the hat off of the phone. The phone rang again.

He really should've unplugged it.

He picked up the receiver. "What do you want now, Balkan?" Mort asked, annoyed.

"Go to the woods behind the hotel. Walk down the path a little way," a voice filled with a heavy Mississippi accent instructed.

Mort realized who it was and gulped. "Why?" He asked, nervously.

"I'll catch up with you this afternoon. Anybody you call between now and then is your responsibility," Shooter explained and hung up.

Mort replaced the receiver back slowly, thinking. He got up and stood still in the middle of the room once more. He was not going to let some loser ruin his day. "Now, where was I?" Mort asked, walking through the room.

He paused in front of a mirror and examined his reflection. He presumed that he was looking pretty damn hot.

He bent his arm up in a flexing position and examined what little muscle he had on his arm. With the free hand, he rubbed down along his smooth chest.

In the reflection, he focused on the background. He saw the floor waiter from before standing in the open doorway, looking at him as though he were crazy.

Mort quickly put his arms down and turned around to the floor waiter. He smiled embarrassedly at him.

"I came to collect your plates, Monsieur, but obviously you are busy with more important things," The waiter said, closed the door, and left.

Mort, red in the face, walked back to the bathroom and finished shaving.


	48. Chapter 48

---

48

---

Mort, now fully dressed and shaven, ran down the path in the woods behind the hotel. He stopped dead at a clearing, seeing an abandoned truck. He walked forward, breathing heavily. His pace slowed as he got closer. Mort looked at the truck. He advanced slowly and saw a man in the driver's seat.

Mort gulped. "Sir?" Mort asked, as he continued to walk toward the vehicle. "Monsieur?" He came up to the open window and saw a man with a screwdriver of Mort's sticking out of his head.

Mort coughed and gagged. He spotted a bloody axe on the passenger's seat. His own as well. Blood was all over the truck. Mort raised his head up and looked through the rear window. He spotted another man with his throat severed. He backed away from the truck, his heart starting to beat quickly. He turned around and saw a squirrel in a tree. The squirrel chattered. Mort waited for the squirrel to continue up the tree, his heart to slow down. But neither ever happened.

His head began spinning and he passed out on the ground.

After some hours, he woke up, opened his eyes, bolted upright and tried to see what time it was on his watch, but his vision was blurry.

"Quarter past 2," A voice from out of nowhere announced.

Mort rushed to his feet, grabbing the truck for support, and tried to run, but he fell down.

"You've been out about 3 hours. Your leg's sleepin'. You laid on the damn thing," Shooter explained.

Mort got up again, but fell down. He tried once more and began to hop away.

"Now I would've moved you, but I didn't want to wake you. Got tired of waitin'. Almost pinned a note on you. Decided not to," Shooter explained, all the while cleaning the blood of the two men off of his fingers. "You scare too easy," The man told him.

Mort continued to flee the scene as quickly as he could with the circumstances he was being faced with at the moment.

"I wouldn't go too far if I were you. I hooked you to those two men in more ways than you know," Shooter said.

He was right about that. Those were Mort's tools. He'd be tried, surely.

_Damn you Balkan! Now look what you've gotten me into! _He wanted to scream.

Mort limped further away from Shooter, and instead screamed, "You're insane! I'm going to the police."

"Who's screwdriver you think is in that fella's head?" Shooter asked.

Mort knew very damn well who's fucking screwdriver was lodged into 'that fella's head'. He stopped his limping and stood still, but refused to turn around and look at the man.

"If you leave 'em here and I disappear, you gonna find yourself standing with your head in the noose and your feet in Crisco," Shooter said.

"What do you want from me?" Mort yelled.

Shooter walked toward Mort. "Why, I told you that already, Mr. Corso. I want you to give me back my book. The one you stole. Or ain't you ready to admit it yet?"

"I did not steal your book," Mort said, turning to finally face the bastard.

Shooter stayed where he was and continued to clean his fingers. "Oh, I expect you to let yourself..." He spit on his hand. "...go to Greenhaven for murder before you'll admit it," He said and looked up at Mort.

"It's not my book you lunatic! It's not my book! It's not my goddamn book!" Mort yelled.

Shooter advanced. "You have proof about this so-called 'Boris Balkan' right now?"

"On me, no."

"There can't be any proof! Not about that book. That book is mine!" Shooter said, beginning to get angry.

Mort advanced towards Shooter. "What do you want? You wanna kill me? Why don't you just do it. Just kill me," Mort said, feeling that perhaps it was the best thing for him.

"No sir! I could've killed you before in our little fight, but I didn't. You bring me that book. I bet it's in that there bag of yours right now, isn't it?" He asked, circling Mort and eyeing the book bag that hung loosely from his shoulder.

Mort looked down at his bag as well. Luckily the book was safely hidden in his hotel room -- At least he hoped it still was.

"I'll be in your room in two hours. You got some heavy lifting here first, I'd get to that if I were you," Shooter said. He started off, then stopped. He turned around. "By the way. If you talk to those authorities of yours again, or if you don't show up in two hours, I will burn your life and every person in it like a cane field in a high wind," Shooter said.

_Fuck it_, Mort thought. He had nothing to live for anymore, anyway. Well.. there was money.. but so what? Amy was a cheating ho-bag and he almost wanted to say, 'Burn her good!' But he didn't.

"And when you realize that you're a fucking idiot hick with nothing better to do than make up crazy stories and harass people about bogus claims, then what?" Mort asked. He was sure that the man would strike him, but he didn't care.

But the man did not strike him. He simply replied, "Then I turn myself in. But I take care of myself before a trial, Mr. Corso. Because if things turn out that way, then I suppose I am crazy. And that kind of crazy man, has no reason or excuse to live."

Mort looked at him, speechlessly. He didn't know if he believed what the man was saying.

"You got two hours, Mr. Corso. I'd use 'em wisely if I were you." Shooter repeated, grinning at him.

"Try me," Mort said simply.

Shooter pointed at him. "Listen. You got my hat. I want it. One way or the other." And then he walked off through the woods and disappeared.


	49. Chapter 49

---

49

---

Mort approached the truck. He looked through the window disgustedly. He didn't _want_ to do it. He _couldn't_ do it. He _wouldn't_ do it... But he had to do it.

He pulled his sleeve over his hand and opened the passenger door. Mort looked at the dead men. The door opened a bit further, causing the truck to shake. He sighed and climbed onto the passenger seat, onto the axe. Startled, he pushed it onto the floor.

He went up close to the man in the driver's seat with the screwdriver in his head and looked at him. Mort breathed in deeply, then blew out the air. He placed his hand up to the handle of the screwdriver, but then chickened out.

He looked at the floor and grabbed a piece of paper that he saw. His covered hand advanced to the handle of the screwdriver. The man in the backseat's body fell over and Mort jumped. "Whoa!" He yelled, looking at the fallen man. Then he turned back to the other man and proceeded with removing the screwdriver.

He turned his head away and his wrapped hand closed over the screwdriver. He pulled it out of the man's skull and it made a squishing noise. Mort almost puked when he heard the sound.

Then when he looked at the screwdriver he wanted to puke even more. The screwdriver was covered in blood and there were pieces of... he didn't want to think about it. Mort wiped the stuff off of the screwdriver with the paper he had used to pull it out. Then he grabbed the axe up from off the floor and got out of the truck. He threw the screwdriver and axe down in the grass and shut the passenger's door.

Mort started the truck and turned the parking break from park to drive. He slowly guided it down the path, knowing that the path eventually led to the edge of a cliff.

The truck built up speed and Mort was now jogging along with it.

The truck hit a bump in the road and sent the man in the driver's seat's head into the horn. It honked loudly and Mort was flustered by it. "Oh!" He yelled and pushed the man's head off of the horn. As the head was removed, he saw that his hand was caught on the steering wheel by his watch.

Mort shook his hand, trying to free himself. The car was nearing the end of the path and was just about to go over the cliff. He furiously pulled his hand and managed to get loose just in time before the truck crashed off the cliff and into the water.

Mort caught his balance and prevented himself from going over. The truck hit the water and sank below. Mort watched as it disappeared into the darkness.


	50. Chapter 50

---

50

---

Mort sat on a bench across the street from Baroness Kessler's building, a newspaper in his hands. He looked at it thoughtlessly, then glanced up. The secretary walked out of the entrance and down the sidewalk. It was time to shine.

Mort got up from his perch and walked across the street and into the building. The photocopies under his arm in a folder, he quickly made his way up the stairs. Reaching the door of the Baroness's office, he extended a hand and jiggled the knob. It was locked. He looked off to the side and saw an intercom.

Mort reluctantly pressed the button and the intercom buzzed. He cleared his throat.

"Oui?" The Baroness said through the intercom.

"W-Uh-w.. yes. Hello Baroness," Mort fumbled, trying to find the right words. "It's me, the wolf in sheep's clothing. Ha ha."

The Baroness did not find his presence funny, though. "I thought I made myself quite clear, Mr. Corso."

"Well... I've got something for you, Baroness. A kind of peace offering. Will you allow me to give it to you... _Please_?" He asked in a soft, innocent voice.

The Baroness replied by buzzing him in.

He smiled, slowly opened the door and entered the room. He walked down the hall and into the Baroness's office. Mort approached her desk. "First, let me apologize. I should've told you right away that I'm working for Boris Balkan. It was foolish of me to think that I could deceive someone as studious as you. Please forgive me."

The Baroness fixed Mort with a cold, challenging stare as he approached her desk. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Corso. Get on with it."

"Right," Mort said, pulling the folder out from under his arm. He placed it in front of her. "These are for you."

She looked down at the photocopies distastefully. "What is this? What is this supposed to be?" She asked.

"You said that your knowledge of 'The Nine Gates' was extensive. But, did you ever compare your copy with the other two?" Mort asked.

"No. Why?"

"Well, you should have. These are copies of the engravings from Balkan's book. You'll find that some of them differ from yours," Mort explained.

"Differ? So you question my book's authenticity, do you? If that's your peace offering, you can take it and go. My 'Nine Gates' is absolutely genuine."

Mort shook his head. "I don't dispute that, Baroness. In my opinion, all three copies are genuine. But the fact remains, they all display variations."

"They display variations?" The Baroness repeated. "If that were true, it would be a revelation. What makes you so sure?"

Mort lifted the photocopies. "I've already compared these with the Fargas's engravings." He turned the page to the famous hermit with the keys engraving and pointed at the hermit's hand. "And in his, the keys were in the other hand." He turned the page to the next engraving and pointed to a bricked up doorway. "In here, the doorway wasn't bricked up." He turned the page to the hanging man. "And in this one, the man was hanging by the other leg." He put the engravings back down in front of her and gave her a look.

Now, interested in Mort's discovery, she pulled her copy of 'The Nine Gates' from a drawer of her desk and lay it open on the surface. Mort leaned over her as she flipped to each engraving and compared it with the photocopies, as Mort had done himself the past few days.

"Well?" He asked.

"Well, what?" She asked back, not seeing anything unusual.

Mort picked up a photocopy and placed it next to the real engraving. "Look closely, Baroness." He pointed to the turrets atop a building. "The turrets. Three in yours." He pointed his hand to the turrets on the photocopy. "Four in Balkan's."

She turned the page to the next engraving of a king playing chess with a peasant and pointed to the chess table. In her copy the chess board was blank, in Balkan's it was colored in black. "Hm," She said, now finding some truth in what Mort was trying to tell her. "Amazing."

"I'm convinced there will be a third one in here somewhere," Mort said. "Three variations in three copies makes nine. Coincidence or something more? Maybe Torchia hid the secret of The Ninth Gate in three books, not one."

The Baroness looked up at him excitedly. "I must admit, I'm impressed. This puts an entirely different complexion on the matter. You have my permission to investigate further, Mr. Corso. Take as long as you need."

_Success!_ Mort thought.

She lead him into the next room and he sat down at a table and spread his work out around him. Then she left him alone and went back to her office.

Never taking his eyes off her copy, he reached into his pocket and produced a cigarette. He placed it in his mouth and reached back into his pocket for the lighter. Mort lit the flame and brought it up to the cigarette, when suddenly the Baroness spoke:

"My permission did not extend to that, Mr. Corso. Nobody smokes in my library."

Mort sadly removed the cigarette and placed it back into the carton and then back into his pocket. He sighed and closed the book. He placed it on its spine and opened it to a random page, then looked down at the page he had landed on and saw a postcard inserted in the page.

The postcard displayed a nice picture of a castle-like building emitting bright lights. Mort turned it around and read the back:

_Sorry, Frieda._

_I saw it first!_

_Boris._

Mort slowly replaced it back into the pages of the book and continued to flip again. He turned some pages and came to the engraving of the knight with a finger to his lips. Mort took his magnifying glass and ran it over the bottom of the page. The engraving was signed 'LCF.'

He opened his notebook to the chart he had made, added another row and inscribed 'Kessler', and wrote 'LCF' in the first box.

Mort flipped to the another engraving and placed his magnifying glass over the signature. 'LCF'. He inscribed 'LCF' in the fifth box of his chart.

He continued his study on the book. Suddenly, there was a loud thud and Mort felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. His vision became blurred and he fell to the table, knocked out cold.


	51. Chapter 51

---

51

---

A bit of time had passed. Mort, slumped over the table, came to. He groaned and slowly straightened up. He felt his head and winced. He'd never been hurt so many times on assignment before.

A strange sound filled the room. Like a sort of squeaking and thudding. Mort looked around vaguely for its source. Then he discovered it: Baroness Kessler's wheelchair had been left in forward gear colliding again and again with the wall on the other side of the room. Mort regarded from behind as the old lady slammed repeatedly into the wall.

He struggled to his feet. "Baroness?" He asked, drowsily. But the Baroness did not reply. "Baroness?" He asked again, stumbling forward in the direction of the wheelchair.

Unsteadily, he made his way over to the wheelchair and swiveled it around. He jumped back upon seeing the horrible scene; Baroness Kessler had been strangled and her cheeks were blue, her eyes and tongue were protruding.

Unobstructed, the wheelchair took off past Mort across the room and headed toward the double doors that lead to the library. The wheelchair ran into them, they burst open, and the wheelchair continued on its way into the library.

Instantly, smoke came billowing into the room, accompanied by a crackle of flames. The wheelchair disappeared into the fire.

Mort's eyes went wide. He quickly scanned the desk for Baroness Kessler's 'Nine Gates', but unsurprisingly, it was gone. He quickly gathered all of his notes, papers and books and shoved them into his book bag. Then he made his way into the library.

The room was thick with smoke and illuminated by a fiery glow. Mort paused in the doorway, shielding his face from the heat with one hand, and looked around the ablaze room. He spotted a bonfire of books and papers in the center of the room. He could just make out her copy of 'The Nine Gates' on top. The flames were already engulfing it.

Mort took a last look, then dashed to the bonfire. He attempted to reach his hand through the fire to salvage the book. But it was so hot! He advanced further into the fire and began reaching again. But the fire was just too out of control.

He quickly walked out of the room, his arm hot from the fire, and began to run out of the building. With smoke billowing after him, Mort dashed out of the office. Running like hell down the stairs, he bumped into the secretary, who had just been returning from her lunch break with a paper bag filled with oranges in her hands.

As he hit her, she let out a little shriek and fell to the floor, her bag falling from her grip. Half a dozen oranges went bouncing ahead of Mort as he raced down the stairs.

In the hallway he almost ran right into the concierge, who was mopping the floor. She leaped aside, startled at Mort's behavior as he ran out of the door and to the safety of a nearby park.

Mort took off his glasses and gathered some water from a fountain in his hands. He splashed the water on his face, replaced his glasses then looked ahead to see a Great Dane watching

him from the mouth of an alleyway. Mort and the Great Dane stared at each other.

The sound of a fire engine's siren was faint at first but then grew louder.

Mort reached an intersection and looked around the corner. The Kessler building was ablaze. Flames and clouds of smoke were coming from the windows of the upper stories. Fire engines and squad cars blocked off the street as firemen attempted to put it out with fire hoses. Spectators lined the streets, trying to see what the commotion was all about.

Mort looked up at the sight sadly and sighed.


	52. Chapter 52

---

52

---

He crossed the street and made for the hotel entrance. Arriving in his room, he opened the cabinet and then the minibar. He pulled out a glass and a small bottle of alcohol and brought them over to the nightstand.

Mort sat down on the bed, slowly opened the bottle of liquor and poured it into the glass. He drank half and stroked his beard as he stared blankly at the wall. His eyes moved from the wall and over to the doorway. A peculiar towel was sprawled across the floor.

Mort put his glass down on the nightstand and got up. He walked over to the towel, picked it up, and studied it closely. He suddenly realized where the towel had come from.

Quickly he walked back to the cabinet and pulled the tray with the glasses out roughly, toppling the glasses over. He wasn't in the mood to be careful about anything anymore.

He pulled the minibar out completely from the cabinet and looked in the space. 'The Nine Gates' was gone.

Not caring to replace anything, he began out of the room. As if on purpose, the phone suddenly rang. Mort growled to himself and stepped back into the room. He looked at the phone and thought about whether he should answer it or not.

After deciding that he wouldn't, he walked out of the room and shut the door. Mort took a step in the direction of the elevator, then stopped. He turned back, opened the door and marched back into the room. "Hello?" Mort said, annoyed.

"Mort," A female voice asked.

Mort winced and pulled the receiver away. He didn't know how Amy had known where he was or how she had gotten this number. All he knew was that he shouldn't have answered the phone afterall. "Aww.." He muttered and then placed the receiver back up to his face. "Yeah, hi."

"I've been so worried about you. Are you okay?" Amy asked.

Mort raised his eyebrows. "I'm okay, I'm okay, Amy. What?"

"Are you sure? When I saw you yesterday you seemed so strained. I mean..," Amy sniffled. She took a deep breath in.

"What!" Mort asked impatiently.

"Do you..um.. Do you think things would've been different if.. we hadn't lost the baby?" Amy asked.

Mort scowled. "Jesus Christ! I don't.. Amy. I don't know! Let me call you later. I-I gotta go. I-I gotta be somewhere," Mort said, pacing around the room.

Amy began to cry. God, he hated talking to her. Even more so now that she was crying and wasting his time all at the same moment. "What? What is it, Amy? Oh, just breathe. Breathe! Take a breath! Where are you? You at... _Ted_'s?" Mort asked, sitting down on the bed.

"Yeah," Amy replied.

"How we feeling about old Ted, these days?" Mort asked.

"I don't know.. I love him, I guess," She replied.

Mort's heart managed to break even more than it had already had. "Oh... That's good."

"I didn't go with other men, you know. I always wanted to tell you that. I didn't go with other men. Only Ted, and only the last few months after you and me were already over," Amy explained.

"Well. If we were already over while we were still together, you might have mentioned it. Because it was news to me."

"That's because you weren't there anymore! You were gone all the time!"

"I worked at home, Amy!" Mort shouted.

"That's not what I mean. Even when you were with me, you were gone up in your head. I don't think that I looked in your eyes and actually saw you looking back at me, I mean, really with me for the last 2 years," Amy explained.

"You know what? You know what, you're right. You're absolutely right. It's all my fault," Mort agreed, willing to tell her anything so long as it would end this horrible conversation.

"No. I was a chickenshit," Amy said. She wiped her nose with a Kleenex. "Ted wanted us to go and tell you together. He kept asking and I kept putting it off. I'll never forget that look on your face.."

Both Amy and Mort had a flashback of that terrible night which had destroyed their marriage.

"You know what? I gotta go," Mort said, not wanting to talk to anymore ex-wives, not wanting to have any disturbing flashbacks, not wanting to talk about something so painful anymore.

"No Mort, wait. Can't we just--" Amy began.

"No! N.. I-I've gotta go!"

"Will you call me if you need me?" Amy asked.

"I doubt it," Mort replied.

"Can I come up there?" Amy asked.

"Come up here? Come all the way up to France! Why on earth would you do that, Amy?" Mort asked, wondering what the hell was wrong with her.

Amy breathed in and then responded. "You told me you were on a dangerous assignment. I just feel that if I were there, you might change your mind and see that taking that assignment was all a big mistake," Amy explained.

Mort didn't respond right away. He was too annoyed with her last comment. But finally he spoke, calmly and slowly. "You'll bring Ted along if you do, won't you?" He asked.

Now it was Amy's turn to be silent before she answered. After a moment she spoke up, "Yes, but he might be able to help you in some way. Mort, just let us come there so we can talk some sense into you."

"Unbelievable... You were worried about me and I believed you... What an idiot..," Mort said to himself. "You just don't want me to get any more money."

"No. That's not true. I am worried! You sound like you did six months ago and I think it's my fault. It's my fault. And I wish I could take it back, but I can't."

"Well then, I guess you shouldn't have fucked him then!" Mort yelled and slammed the receiver down with a crash.

Amy jumped, and turned off her phone. She stared at it, worried for Mort.

Mort flexed his jaw, and then finally managed to get out of the hotel room without any interruptions this time, slamming the door. As he rode in the elevator, he realized what an idiot he had been to not ask Amy a single thing about her whereabouts or 'The Nine Gates' or even Ted for that matter. But it was too late now.

He got down to the lobby and walked up to the reception desk to find the assistant clerk. "Excuse me. There's something missing from my room. Has anyone been up there while I was out?" Mort asked.

"Only your wife, Monsieur," The clerk replied.

"My wife? I don't have a wife anymore!" Mort said, annoyed.

The reception desk's phone rang. "Oh, I'm sorry, Monsieur," The clerk apologized, picking up the phone.

Mort turned around, extremely annoyed now.

"Oui?" The clerk answered. He looked up at Mort. "Oui! Il est devant moi maintenant."

Mort turned back and looked at the clerk wondering what was going on.

"Pour vous, Monsieur." The clerk said and pointed to the phone booths on the other side of the lobby. "Cabine deux."

Mort looked in the direction of the clerk's finger, took one last glance back at the clerk, then walked over to the second booth suspiciously. "No more," He said quietly to himself before picking up the phone. "Yes?" Mort asked, still annoyed.

"What news?" Balkan asked.

Mort was not surprised by the least at Balkan's calls or any other strange calls for that matter. He'd become... _accustom_ to them now.

"News?" Mort asked, looking up at the ceiling of the booth and thinking. "Let me see... Well, yes. The good news is that I got to examine the old woman's book. And three of her engravings were signed 'LCF'. The bad news is that someone strangled her and made a bonfire of her collection. Now that's tragic, wouldn't you say?"

"You took the words out of my mouth."

"Yes. It's the Fargas story all over again. I'm of the mind that they tore out the engravings before they torched the place. That makes two sets they've got."

"And my copy?" Balkan asked.

"Well, uh... I learned my lesson, fortunately. I don't carry it around with me anymore. Otherwise it would've gone up in smoke."

"Excellent," Balkan remarked. "Good thinking. Well, with the two copies gone that seems to conclude your assignment. It only remains that you return my book. I'm staying at the Ritz. You can pick up your check at the same time. Shall we say half an hour?"

Mort swallowed hard. "There's more bad news. Um... I don't have it."

"You don't have it?"

"Someone lifted it from my room."

There was a long pause, then Balkan continued. "Listen to me very carefully, Mr. Corso. I think you may already have some idea of which the length I'm prepared to go when I want something. Unless you recover my property in double quick time, you'll discover just how far that can be." The line clicked and then Balkan was gone.

Mort slowly hung up the phone and walked out of the booth. And then he saw the girl. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pinned her against the wall. "Where is it?" He demanded.

"Where's what?" She asked.

"The book, where is it?" He demanded again.

The girl pulled out of his grip and turned the tables on him. She twisted his arm behind his back and pinned it there. It made a loud crack as she did so. Mort winced as she gripped him. "Would I be here if I did it? Huh? You should know better by now," She said, roughly releasing his arm from her hold.

He groaned, straightened up and turned to face her. Clutching his arm, he walked back to the reception desk.

Gruber had now returned. "I must apologize for my young colleague, Mr. Corso. It was unpardonable of him."

Mort rubbed his arm and nudged his head in the direction of the girl. "Is that her?"

The assistant clerk shook his head. "No, Monsieur. She was very tall, very thin, very blonde, sheek, elegant--"

"Which reminds me, sir. I have the information you wanted. The lady and gentleman you mentioned. They're staying at..." Gruber looked down at his paper. "The Plaza Athenes Hotel. Suite 209-211." He handed the paper to Mort. The girl snuck up beside him as he read it.

Mort took the paper and shoved it in his bag. "Thank you very much, Gruber. I owe you one. But right now, I need a taxi. Quick."

"Un taxi! Vite!" Gruber ordered the assistant.

Mort grabbed a piece of hotel stationary from the desk and a pen and scrawled down a message. "Send this to Mr. Balkan at the Ritz. That's B-A-L-K-A-N" Mort instructed. He finished scrawling down his message which read:

_It's my wife!_

_Corso_

"Fax it immediately," Mort ordered.

Gruber took the paper. "Certainly, sir." Mort slid him another 100 Franc and walked to the entrance. Gruber took it. "Always a pleasure to be of service."

The girl still stood at the desk. "Coming?" Mort asked and the girl turned, walked out of the hotel with him.


	53. Chapter 53

---

53

---

Mort and the girl drove up to the entrance in a cab. The doorman opened the door, they got out, Mort paid the driver and then they proceeded to enter the hotel. They walked to the elevator and Mort pushed the button.

"What do you plan to do when you see them?" The girl asked.

"Probably hide behind you," Mort said. The elevator's doors opened and they entered. Then the doors closed.

Mort and the girl walked down the corridor, checking room numbers as they went. They almost reached the door of Suite 209-211 when it suddenly opened. They jumped back in alarm and hid behind a nearby wall.

A bellhop emerged, towing a baggage cart filled with suitcases. Mort and the girl came from their hiding place and entered the room. It was empty.

They quickly used the stairs for speed's sake. Panting, they stopped at the foot of the stairs and scanned the crowded lobby. But they saw no one so they made their way back to the entrance. Suddenly, Mort spotted his wife-- Correction: ex wife -- But Mr. Teddy-Weddy was nowhere to be seen. It didn't matter, though. Amy was the one he was after.

He pulled the girl to the side. "Whoa! That's her, that's her," Mort whispered. He looked at her. "Um... we should grab a taxi before she takes off," He said, looked back at Amy and felt a sadness inside.

He and the girl walked out to the street. Mort stood on the edge of the sidewalk, trying to hail down a cab. But it didn't stop. It was taken.

The girl glanced behind her and saw Amy leaving. "She's going," She announced.

Mort turned his head and looked at Amy as she placed her luggage in the trunk of a fancy car. He turned away and continued to scout out for a taxi.

Just then a red Lamborghini pulled up to the street. A rich man and his blonde bimbo emerged from the car. He left the key in the ignition and signaled the valet to park his car for him. Then he made his way into the hotel, the bimbo trailing behind.

Mort spotted a taxi coming down the street. It was his last chance. He jumped into the middle of the road, waving his arms like a madman at the coming vehicle. The taxi swerved out of the way before hitting him and honked, but it did not stop. Even though it was empty.

Mort, annoyed and frustrated by everything, slowly walked out of the middle of the street and back to the side. Meanwhile, Amy took off in her Mercedes.

The red Lamborghini drove out and stopped in front of him. Mort continued to scan the traffic. The girl, seated in the driver's seat looked at him. "Coming?" She asked.

Mort looked down casually to see where the voice was coming from. At the sight of the girl in the Lamborghini, he took a double take. He was confused and surprised at the same time. But dared not to ask questions. He needed a ride, and he needed it bad.

The girl leaned over and opened the passenger door for him. He got in, wordlessly and she took off before he could even manage to fully shut the door.

He took one last glance back at the hotel, knowing that he was committing a crime and felt guilty for it. But he didn't care.


	54. Chapter 54

---

54

---

The Lamborghini took off through the traffic filled street. They could see the Mercedes a few cars ahead. "Couldn't you have picked something a little less conspicuous?" Mort asked.

"Don't be so picky. Some people would give their teeth for a ride in this," The girl defended.

Mort surveyed the car's luxurious interior, opened the glove compartment, removed the contents and inspected them: a pair of sunglasses and a turban.

The Mercedes was cruising along several hundred yards ahead of the Lamborghini.

"Listen, we can't sit on her tail forever. She's bound to smell a rat," Mort told her.

The girl gave him a look then she pulled open the glove compartment and put the turban and sunglasses on. Mort looked at her strangely. She extended her arm and pushed him down below the door level of the car.

Amy, behind the wheel of the Mercedes, turned her head to look at the car that was passing. She saw a figure in shades and a turban behind the wheel. A bit strange, nevertheless, but not _extremely_ strange, really.

As they fully passed, Mort slowly raised up. After glancing over his shoulder, he settled back in his seat and lit a cigarette. He eyed the girl.

"How do I look?" She asked, still porting the costume.

"Ridiculous," He said, looking away from her. She smiled and put the items back in the glove compartment.

The Lamborghini passed an exit. The girl drove with one eye on the Mercedes, which was picking up speed, in the rearview mirror.

The Mercedes turned off at the exit.

"Sit tight!" The girl ordered Mort. She brought the car to a quick halt and shifted to reverse. Then she backed the car up quickly until the beginning of the exit.

A couple of cars flashed their headlights and blared their horns as the Lamborghini reached the exit and skidded to a stop, narrowly missing a large truck that had beaten it to the exit. The Lamborghini crawled along behind the truck as it drove up the single-lane exit road.

Mort became impatient. He reached his hand over and tapped on the horn a few times, emitting a high pitched honking noise. The truck's only response was to slow further before pulling up at the T junction.

An arm suddenly emerged from the truck's driver window and showed Mort and the girl a friendly finger. Guess which one?

The arm then disappeared and the truck moved off at last, turning left across the bridge spanning the freeway. The Mercedes was nowhere in sight.

The Lamborghini moved up to the T junction and stood there, engine purring. They had no idea which way Amy could've gone.

"Take your pick," The girl said.

"No, you. You know everything," Mort insisted.

"If you say so," She replied and turned the car to the right.


	55. Chapter 55

---

55

---

It had become dark and the Lamborghini was speeding along a road lined with trees on both sides. There was no sign of the Mercedes.

"We lost them," The girl finally said.

"Not at this speed. They must have gone the other way," Mort insisted.

"You mean I don't know everything after all?" The girl replied.

"Turn around," Mort ordered.

They passed a small intersection on the right and the girl began to back into it to turn the other way, but something caught her eye. "Tall, thin, blonde - what was her name again?" The girl asked.

"Amy," Mort replied.

"No, her last name," The girl said.

Mort scowled. "Milner...," He replied sadly.

The girl turned away from him and stared straight ahead. Mort looked at her and then looked straight ahead as well. The Lamborghini's headlights had illuminated a sign in a shape of an arrow that was pointing in the direction they had been going. The sign read 'Milner'.

The girl turned out into the road and continued to drive in the original direction. After some minutes, she slowed the car as they passed the 'Milner' sign at the entrance to the village itself.

Mort and the girl got out of the car and walked silently down the old village street. A faint glow came from a few of the windows in the houses, but the street itself was deserted. They paused at the mouth of a small, equally deserted square with small stores in the darkness.

"So?" The girl asked, wondering what trick Mort was going to pull out of his sleeve this time.

Mort looked around the area, wondering what trick he was going to pull out of his sleeve now as well. Then he noticed a light coming from the basement window of a baker's shop. Side by side, Mort and the girl looked down through the open basement window of the bakery. Inside, a flour-smeared baker was in the middle of preparing a tray of croissants for the oven.

"Monsieur?" Mort called.

The baker looked up, wiped his hands on his smock, and walked over to the window. "M'sieur?" He acknowledged.

"Nous cherchons la maison de Madame Milner," Mort said.

"Le chateau, vous voulez dire," The baker asked.

Mort turned to the girl. "Chateau! I knew it." He turned back to the baker. "Ou il est, le chateau?"

"Vous prenez la route derriere l'eglise," The baker said, gesturing in the direction of the church.

Mort nodded. "Merci."

They walked back to the car and the girl drove slowly along a country road flanked on one

side by woods. A pair of iron gates and a gatehouse appeared up on the left.

"Keep going," Mort instructed.

The Lamborghini backed into the mouth of a farm track. The girl and Mort got out, crossed the road, and headed off through the woods.


	56. Chapter 56

---

56

---

Mort and the girl made their way up a long, straight, graveled driveway. The bright lights of the chateau could be seen ahead.

Hearing the sound of a car behind them, they turned to see its headlights swing in through the gates. They quickly took cover in the trees and watched the car glide past their path. After its passing, they emerged from the trees and continued on their way.

Mort and the girl observed the chateau from the edge of the trees. Then they continued their way around to the side of the chateau. One of the lighted windows gave them a view of the upper floors of the chateau's hall. For a better look at the luxurious setting, they climbed on a stone bench.

Inside, some guests were conversing in groups. Men and women alike attired in long black robes with silver pentacles suspended from their necks on chains.

Mort scowled upon not seeing Amy in the crowd.

"See them anywhere?" The girl asked, making Mort even more annoyed with the situation.

"No," He replied, hastily. He gave her a look and then they proceeded to make their way, cautiously, around the side of the house, searching for a way in.

Peering through a semi-basement window, they viewed two chefs chopping vegetables at a big kitchen table. They paused, at a loss, and looked up at the house. Several of the second-floor windows were illuminated. The girl suddenly strayed away. Mort turned, wondering what she was doing and saw that she was climbing up the side of the house. He frowned, then started after her.

With Mort close behind, they reached the top of the wall. The girl then clambered over onto the balcony and walked over to the windows to survey.

Mort, not built for climbing, struggled onto the balcony with difficulty. While struggling, he bumped his head making his glasses go flying off his face and somewhere onto the dark balcony. He groaned and got down on all fours, running his hand along the floor to find his precious glasses.

The girl turned away from the windows and looked down at Mort who was still searching for his glasses like a dog. "I think you'll want to see this," She said and then turned back to the windows.

Mort skimmed his hand over the floor once more and felt something that he only assumed could be his glasses. He picked them up, placed them back on, raised off of the floor and approached the windows, standing next to the girl. Together, they peered through the windows.

The room was a female's bedroom. All of a sudden Amy appeared. She walked across the room, past the windows, stripping off her clothing and making her way over to the wardrobe at the opposite end of the room. She took out one of the famous black robes and silver pentacle and placed them on. Then she walked over to a mirror and became preoccupied with studying her reflection.

Mort regarded in awe. He hadn't seen Amy like that in so long.

"This is not..my beautiful house... This is not.. my beautiful wife... Anymore," Mort said softly, his voice filled with sadness. He began to stroke his face.

He breathed in and out deeply, trying to return his calm and decided he would take advantage of her preoccupation with her reflection by trying to push open the windows. But they wouldn't budge. An idea suddenly came to him. He took his trusty book bag and placed it over an area of one of the windows. Then he punched over the spot, breaking the glass.

Amy spun around with a terrified cry and stood in horror while she watched as Mort reached his arm through the hole he had made, pulled on the window latch and pulled the window wide open. He and the girl stepped into the room.

"Sorry to intrude on you like this," Mort said.

"What are you doing here?" Amy shouted.

"What am_ I _doing here? What are_ you _doing here? I just dropped by to pick up the book you stole from my room." Mort explained, walking over to the bed and emptying a suitcase that was there.

"That book is mine!" Amy shouted.

"Correction: That book is your _husband _Ted's," He said angrily and shuffled through the belongings, recognizing most of them.

"Don't" Amy shouted.

He spotted 'The Nine Gates', grabbed it and held the book up to Amy proudly. She instinctively lunged for it, but the girl blocked her.

"Careful, she bites!" Mort told the girl. All of a sudden, the door of the room opened and a man, clad in the same uniform as the others, stood in the doorway. Mort quickly turned to the doorway, book in hand and regarded the man. He did not recognize him. All he knew was that it wasn't Ted Milner. "Hi," Mort said casually.

While Mort was busy with the man, Amy made a dive for the bedside table and produced a gun from the drawer. She aimed it at the girl and pushed the safety. "Don't move, either one of you," Amy ordered Mort and the girl. She turned to the man. "Get the book."

Mort nervously took a step backwards as the man approached him with his hand extended. Mort reluctantly surrendered the book.

The man took the book from Mort and nodded to him. Then he rewarded him for his co-operation with a vicious slam to the jaw. Mort went down, losing his glasses yet again. Groggily, he crawled around in search of them.

The man, keeping away from the girl, walked past the crawling Mort and handed Amy 'The Nine Gates' and she carefully transferred the gun from her hand to his. "Don't kill them up here, you'll make a mess. Take them downstairs," Amy ordered.

Mort, who scrambled to his feet, understood. The man placed the end of the gun at the nape of his neck and Mort swallowed hard.

"You. Go first. Then you," The man told the girl. The girl walked through the doorway and began down the hall. The man prodded Mort with the gun into motion.

Amy stared after Mort for a moment, clasping 'The Nine Gates' tightly to her chest.


	57. Chapter 57

---

57

---

The girl and Mort marched down the hall obediently to the man's command. After some minutes, they reached the end of the hallway and stood before a heavy oak door. "Open the door," The man ordered.

Reluctantly, the girl opened the door and they began to descend a staircase. Mort shook his head to himself. This was not how it was all going to end. He had a job to finish.

As they walked further down the flight, Mort shouted out, "Watch out!" to the girl as he pulled the man and he went toppling down the stairs. The gun which he had held fell to the floor and slid across to the wall. The girl bent down and picked it up.

Meanwhile, Mort crouched, hunched over the man, and hammered away on his face with his own shoe; A passionate act of fury and anger. The man's face became swollen, bloody and broken after the first few blows.

Disheveled, sweating, and out of breath, Mort finally stopped. He looked up at the girl, his hair out of place, and his face covered in perspiration.

"I didn't know you had it in you," the girl commented, admiringly. Mort simply looked at her.

When he looked back down at the battered man under him, he let out a shriek of horror and fell back against the wall. He stared at the man's face for a few moments, clutching his chest and breathing heavily. It was John Shooter! The man had been John Shooter all along!

Mort closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of this horrible nightmare. Perhaps when he opened them again, he'd be in his hotel room, lying on the couch feeling Chico licking his hand that he'd carelessly left hanging over the edge.

Mort opened his eyes but he was not on the couch like he wanted to be. Instead, he was still in the dank little basement in his ex-wife's secret chateau. Nothing had changed. He was still screwed.

But.. something _had_ changed.

Mort slowly placed his gaze back on the unconscious body that lay on the floor. _It was John Shooter, it was John Shooter, it was JOHN SHOOTER! IT WAS_-- not John Shooter. Just Mort's _lovely_ mind playing oh so nice of a trick on him, _yet again_.

"What? What is it?" The girl asked, nervously.

Mort swallowed hard and looked at her. "N-Nothing.. Just my mind playing tricks on me," Mort replied. After a moment, he raised away from the wall and cautiously approached the man on the ground. He stared down at him confusedly, then spoke. "Hey, give me a hand. I want his gear," Mort said to the girl, deciding to put everything behind him now for the time being.

The girl came over to him and they began to strip the man's clothing from his body.

Mort and the girl cautiously retraced their steps along the hall. Mort, now porting the famous robe and pentacle of the fake John Shooter over his clothes, with his shoes and trouser bottoms visible below the hem of the gown.

They passed the stairs they had descended and continued on their way. After, they turned a corner. As they did so, they heard a faint noise nearby. They paused to listen, then walked on.

The sound grew louder and more distinct: somewhere in the chateau, voices were chanting in unison. As if... as if some sort of _meeting_ was taking place...

Turning another corner, they found themselves in an room that ended off in two massive double doors. The chanting was clearly coming from the other side of them. To the side was a stairway that, most likely, led up to a balcony. Mort walked over to the doors with the girl at his heels, and grasped the handle.

"No. Up to the balcony," The girl insisted.


	58. Chapter 58

---

58

---

As Mort and the girl reached the top of the stairs that lead to the balcony, the chanting grew louder and louder. Reaching the top of the stairway, they were faced with another door, only this door was different. There was a logo on it that portrayed a snake devouring its own tail (Much like the tatoo that had been on Liana's thigh that Mort had failed to see). Mort stared at the logo, extended his arm and and ran his hand over the symbol. After a moment, he cautiously reached out and opened the door. A wave of sound hit him.

He and the girl walked through the doorway and into the shadowy balcony, which ran around three sides of the hall where the meeting was taking place.

They walked to the railing and peered over. Standing at the front of the hall behind a podium holding 'The Nine Gates', was Amy. The rest of the hall was crowded with guests, all clad in the black robe & pentacle get-up. Each person held a lit black candle.

Amy and her guests were taking turns in reading out the Latin passages from 'The Nine Gates'.

"You stay here and cover me. I'm going down," Mort whispered to the girl.

Pulling the hood of his robe over his head, he sneaked down the staircase, secreting himself in the rear row of guests. He tried to concentrate on Amy and the book as the readings continued. Suddenly, the doors at the end of the hall swung open with a crash and a man's deep voice punctured the air.

"Mumbo-jumbo-mumbo-jumbo-mumbo-jumbo...," He chanted against Amy's reading.

The guests stopped chanting and their hooded heads turned to look for the source of the disturbance. Behind her podium, Amy froze and looked up towards the doors.

"Mumbo-jumbo-mumbo-jumbo-mumbo-jumbo...," The man continued.

Mort turned his head around to see Boris Balkan striding toward the front of the hall in Amy's direction. Any guests failing to get out of his way in time were elbowed aside. Amy watched

him, transfixed, as he climbed the steps and turned to face the confused guests.

_Nothing is making sense_, Mort thought. _Nothing is making sense at all_.

"Look around all of you. What do you see?" Balkan asked. The guests all began turning around and looking at each other. "I'll tell you: A bunch of buffoons in fancy dress. You really think the Prince of Darkness would deign to manifest himself to the likes of you? He never has and he never will - never!" He said and closed 'The Nine Gates' with a snap. He held it up. "You read from his book, yes, but you have no conception of its true power. I alone have grasped its secret. I alone have fathomed the Master's grand design. I alone am worthy to enjoy the fruits of that discovery: absolute power to determine my own destiny."

Amy finally spoke up "You're insane. Give it back to me," Amy ordered.

Balkan rounded on her. "As for you, Amy, you're even guiltier than the rest of this pathetic rabble. You have at least some idea of what this book can do in the right hands, yet you lend yourself to these farcical proceedings, these orgies of ageing flesh conducted in the Master's name. You're a charlatan!"

Amy tried to grab the book, but Balkan held it high above his head. In desperation, she clawed his face. Balkan clasped his wounds, dropping the book to the floor. Amy made a dive for it, but Balkan pounced on her. They rolled over across the floor, struggling fiercely.

Balkan grabbed Amy by the throat. She tried to break his grip, but he redoubled it. Halfway down the steps with Balkan on top of her, she fought for breath. Her suffocated, agonized face turned toward the hall.

The guests shrank back in horror, some of them dropped their candles. Hysterical screams filled

the air.

"You thought you'd get away with it, Amy. You thought you'd get away with it. But that book is mine. I was the one who paid for it. Me," Balkan said, still in his struggle.

Mort watched from the back rows as his ex-wife was being killed before his eyes. So many things weren't making any sense at the moment. _Why was Balkan here? _But more importantly, _why had he just said what he had said before? _Something was not adding up...

Clad in his robe, Mort made his way for the podium area as fast as he could, shoving his way through frightened guests in the process. He took hold of Balkan's shoulders and tried to haul him off Amy.

Balkan, still struggling on top of her, turned to look. He glared at Mort through eyes with rage. Then, removing one hand from Amy's throat, he dealt Mort a backhanded blow that sent him a few feet away.

Amy seized the chance to break free. She crawled away and almost regained her strength, but unfortunately Balkan was too quick for her. He grabbed her pentacle chain from behind and proceeded to strangle her with it. Amy, on her knees, pawed frantically at the chain that was digging into her neck. Her face was beginning to turn shades of purple, tongue to protrude.

Mort scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly for a weapon. He seized a three-foot candlestick and raised it over his head. He was about to bring it down when suddenly the girl called out, "Don't, Mort!" Startled, the candlestick fell from his grip and paddled Balkan atop the head. Unnoticing, Mort turned his head upwards and looked. He saw the girl perched on the balcony just above.

Too preoccupied with Balkan and Amy to wonder what the girl's problem was, Mort turned away from her and looked back at the struggle which he had to deal with. He gasped, seeing Amy underneath a collapsed Balkan and the large candlestick lying next to their bodies. Mort furrowed his brow and leaned over the two bodies.

He carefully rolled Balkan off of Amy and looked at him. There was just something _not right _with the whole thing.

Mort moved his head in closer to Balkan's face and studied the lines of the scratches that Amy had placed there moments ago. They had some sort of fake quality to them. Mort couldn't quite put his finger on what it was... Or could he?

He placed a finger over a scratch and moved it along the line. As he did so, his finger ripped through Balkan's face. Mort let out a small scream and pulled his hand away quickly, cringing. He gulped, adjusted his glasses, and looked down at his finger. There was no blood or anything.

Mort placed his whole hand this time on Balkan's face. As he moved it along, Balkan's skin seemed to ripple and wave. Mort grabbed onto the skin surrounding one of the scratches and began to pull...

Balkan's skin was coming off of his face! Mort quickly turned his head away from Balkan's peeling face and drew in some breaths. Finally, he covered his mouth with his free hand and turned back to the peeling Balkan. Only.. it was not Balkan anymore. Under the flap of skin which Mort had pulled free, there was another man's face!

Mort stared down, still a bit squeamish, and studied the new face. He remembered seeing the face somewhere before. He'd seen it only once, but he supposed that once was just enough.

"Hello, Ted," Mort said aloud to the unconscious man. Why Ted had wanted to kill Amy was beyond him, as everything else as well. He still didn't understand anything at all that was happening, but he didn't care.

Suddenly Ted's body began to stir. Mort seized the candlestick from the floor once again and was about to bring it down, purposely this time, when the girl flew down from the balcony and landed on top of him, pushing him to the ground. She held his arms behind him so he could not break free.

"But he's not dead yet!" Mort argued.

"Let him be," the girl replied calmly.

Screams and cries of horror went up from the guests, who had been recoiling further as Ted Milner, the man who Mort loathed, got up from the floor and straightened up. He walked down into the front row of the crowd and stopped.

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed in a mocking, menacing way, and stomped his foot. "Boo!" He yelled.

With more hysterical screams and cries, the guests turned around and began to flee the hall as fast as they could, some peeling off their robes and pentacles and dropping them to the floor as they did so. They all headed out to the parking lot and began escaping in their vehicles.

Calmly, Ted ran a hand through his hair, picked up 'The Nine Gates' from the floor, and strode slowly back to the podium area where Amy's body lay next to Mort and the girl.

Ted bent down, scooped Amy up with impeccable ease and slung her unconscious body over his shoulder. With Mort and the girl's confused gaze upon him, Ted made his way out of the hall and into the parking lot.

With everyone gone from the hall, the girl released her grip on Mort, got off him and rose to her feet. Mort sat up, holding an arm and staring at her confusedly. "_What is it with you_?" He asked, completely annoyed with her.

"Some things are meant to happen. That was one of them," The girl said calmly. Mort simply stared at her angrily.

Meanwhile, Ted placed Amy's limp body into the backseat of his car and drove off with 'The Nine Gates'.

"You're out of a job; it's over. What more do you want?" The girl asked.

"You know what," Mort replied, scrambling to his feet. He quickly made his way outside to the parking lot. He chased after Ted's car, but could not catch it. Seeing an unlocked car nearby, he started off toward it. Mort got behind the wheel and started the car, then recklessly backed it up toward the mansion making the tires squeal against the pavement. As he was just about to turn the car around, he saw the girl standing outside his open window. She passed his bookbag and coat through the window to him, all the while Mort staring at her angrily.

"Not taking me for a ride?" The girl asked sarcastically.

"You were working for him all along." Mort replied, angrily.

"Funny, I thought you were," the girl said, ironically.

Mort put the car into gear and took off after Ted Milner, recklessly. The girl stared after the car as it disappeared into the horizon.


	59. Chapter 59

---

59

---

Mort sped down the highway, trying to catch up with Ted. He had gotten too far to let everything go now. Ted had that book and he wanted it. One way or another.

Coming off of the highway and now speeding along a road, Mort dodged his vehicle through traffic.

Suddenly, Ted's car turned off the road and into the woods. Mort swerved after him.

Racing through the wooded path, Ted came to a stream. But Ted's car happened to be a regular old highway vehicle, not something meant to go offroad. The one Mort had stolen, on the other hand, happened to be a Jeep, therefore it would be able to get him across the stream in one piece.

"Shit!" Ted cursed as he slammed on the brakes. The car stopped at the end of the stream, fuming. Mort stopped just behind him. The men both got out of their vehicles and stood, careless of the water on their lower halves, in the flowing stream.

"What do you think you're you doing?" Mort asked.

"Matter of fact, I was just on my way over to your place," Ted replied.

_That's a bit strange..._ Mort thought, nevertheless he ignored it as he had so many other things already. "Where's your buddy?" Mort asked, referring to the mysterious 'John Shooter'.

"Came alone," Ted replied.

"Sure you did," Mort said, believing that John Shooter was probably stashed away in the trunk or something.

Mort advanced to Ted and looked off to the side. He breathed in and out. "I know what you're up to," Mort finally said. He almost laughed at himself because it was the biggest lie he'd ever told. He had _no idea_ what Ted was up to.

"Look Mort.. A lot of what's going on right now is my fault.. Most of it, in fact," Ted told him.

"Most of it? Hell, you've been going around pretending to be someone for god knows how long, then you put me on this stupid assignment which has nearly gotten me killed oh.. say.. about a dozen times! And then you have the nerve to act like I got myself into this! What do you want?" Mort shouted.

"I want you out of my life," Ted said simply. "Now, I'll pay you for your trouble but--"

"Money! You think that all I care about is money!" Mort shouted.

"No, I know that you care about other things than money. No. What this is about.. is getting this thing done. 'Cause I'm afraid if we don't, well, who knows where it might go and I think you know what I'm talking about," Ted explained.

"Well, Teddy. I think I do, but here's the problem: I don't respond well to intimidation, makes me feel.. icky. You know..," Mort said, pushing Ted slightly.

Ted lifted his arms. "Whoa. Heh heh. You know, I'm attempting to have a normal conversation, here."

Mort advanced further. "I buried my dog, Mister!" Mort yelled.

Ted was bewildered.

"This whole thing is out of your control now. You know it, and I know it. You started this shit. I'm gonna finish it. Now do me a favor, go back and tell that your filthy little friend," Mort said. He pushed Ted in the face with three fingers.

Ted's head went sailing back and hit the window of his fuming car. He was knocked out cold. His body slumped down the side of the car and fell into the flowing stream.

Mort sighed, knowing it wasn't right to leave Ted to drown. Even though Ted had stolen his wife, put him through hell and almost gotten him killed, he still supposed that he should drag him to safety at least.

Mort looked down at him. "Bummer, Ted." He grabbed Ted by the collar and proceeded with dragging him to safety.

All of a sudden: "Not so fast!" A female voice shouted. Mort let go of Ted and looked around to see Amy standing behind him, brandishing a pistol. She must've gained consciousness during his and Ted's argument.

The whole fight before had been a gag, then. Just a big plan to get Mort where they wanted him.

Mort put his hands in the air. Amy used to be so loving and caring. How had she become so... _icky_? "Get a grip, Amy. You wouldn't kill me."

She put the gun to his throat and looked at him menacingly, rage burning in her eyes. She pushed the safety. Mort gulped.

"You're right. Amy wouldn't. But _I_ would," She said, lifting her hand to her face and pulling off her skin to reveal the face of Liana Telfer beneath. Everything was going just... _peachy_.

"Put him in the car," She ordered.

Mort was hesitant to do anything at the moment. She jabbed the gun into his neck. "Do it!" She yelled.

Mort nodded, bent down and scrambled Ted to his feet. It was extremely difficult, considering all the water they were standing in. But he still managed to do it. He held him up with one hand and opened the door of Ted's fuming car with his free hand.

Liana banged the gun down on Mort's hand. "Not that car, you idiot. Your car."

"Ow!" Mort cried, feeling pain rush up through his hand and then spread further up his entire arm. He moved over and opened the door of his Jeep and manoeuvred Ted's unconscious body into the backseat. Then he shut the door and turned back to Liana.

Liana jabbed him in the ribs with the gun. "Now get out of my way."

Mort stepped a few steps backward into the water and watched as Liana got behind the wheel of his Jeep. She grabbed Mort's possessions and dumped them into his arms, then started the car up and took off.

It was over. Ted had gotten away with 'The Nine Gates'.

Mort pulled off the silly robe and pentacle, tossed them aside and traded them in for his usual attire: His coat and bookbag.

He trudged through the stream, soaking his entire lower half even more. As he reached the other side, he looked down the path. But sure enough, his Jeep was long gone.

Mort surveyed the car in the stream. It was in no condition to go anywhere; He would have to walk back to town.

He dropped his bookbag onto the ground and put his coat on. Reaching into the pocket, he grasped onto something hard and brought it out.

What was this inside his pocket? The gun? Hmm...


	60. Chapter 60

---

60

---

Mort trudged his way, soaked, back to town. He sat in a French diner, pants rolled up, shoes not on his feet, the usual cigarette in his mouth. He was certain that he was violating some sort of health code.

Prying through his soggy bookbag, he came upon the Baroness's postcard which portrayed the castle-like building. Mort picked it up and studied it once more.

The waitress came his way "Oui, Monsieur. Toute c'est seche," she said, placing his now dry clothing on the chair next to him.

"Merci, Madame," Mort thanked her. As she turned and began away, Mort spoke up, "Madame."

She turned around "Oui."

Mort pointed to the location on the post card and asked "C'est ou, ca?"

She took it from him and went to the front desk to ask a man that knew the location better than she did. After briefly looking at the postcard, the man came over to Mort with a book that was open to a certain page. He placed it on the table and pointed to a picture that had the caption 'Turret Chamber' underneath.

"Voila," The man said.

Mort nodded and left the diner. He went back to his hotel room and sat down on the couch. Sitting on the coffee table, was John Shooter's hat. Mort had no idea why he still hadn't chucked the thing already.

He looked down at the hat, swallowed, and picked it up. He turned it upside down and studied it. All of a sudden, for no apparent reason, he placed it on his head.

He flexed his jaw and stood up. He walked slowly over to the mirror and looked at himself, adjusted the hat.

"Why'd you put it on?" A voice much like his own asked.

Mort ran his finger along its smooth brim. "I dunno.." He replied.

"Maybe he wanted you to," The voice of the other suggested.

Mort immediately stopped touching the hat and looked up. "Why would he want me to put his hat on?"

"Maybe he wants you to..."

Mort turned around. "Maybe he wants me to what?"

The other appeared and moved his fingers about his head, indicating an insane disposition. "To get confused."

"Oh, I'm already confused, pilgrim," Mort said, removing the awful thing from his head. "Plenty confused. So don't talk to me about confusion." Mort walked across the room.

"Wait a minute, now." The other took off his glasses and began to polish them with his jacket. "Back up just a sec. What about that?"

Mort turned away and took off his coat. "What about what?" He asked, walking away.

"Well, pilgrim, Shooter's Bay, and a half a dozen other details you've chosen to ignore," The other said, appearing and leaning on the couch.

Mort put on his bathrobe. You know what? You're nuts." He walked away yet again. "I don't need to listen to this shit from you."

The other appeared in front of him. "Are all these things coincidences?" The other asked, putting his glasses back on.

"I'm wearing his bruises, aren't I? Aren't I?"

"Are you?" The other asked.

"Well..." Mort began. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal... nothing. He became confused. "This doesn't make any sense..," He said, walking away. He was sure that when he had gotten into that fight with Shooter that night before, he'd been beaten up badly. But now... there was not a scratch on him.

The other appeared in front of him again. "Would you like to hear something that does make sense? Call the police." Mort turned away, but the other appeared in front of him holding the phone receiver. "Call the police, tell them to get down here right this second and lock you up before you can do any more damage."

"I'm gonna get a knife and cut you out of me."

The other disappeared finally. "Before you kill anyone else."

Mort grabbed his head in frustration. "I didn't kill anybody." Mort began to have a flashback to the painful time when he had caught his wife in bed with another man. He had entered the room holding a gun.

"You had a gun," The voice of the other said to him.

"Wasn't loaded.."

"Really?" The other asked, re-appearing.

"No no no.."

The other walked in front of Mort. "You almost killed them. You wanted to."

"The gun was not loaded!" Mort yelled.

The other smiled. "You still want to."

"Shut up!" Mort yelled.

The other pulled Mort's hands away from his face so that he had no choice but to look directly at him. "Listen to me, because this is how it happens. This is happens to people."

"Shut up!" Mort yelled again.

"There is no John Shooter."

Mort turned away and looked up. "Ra? Ra?"

"There never has been. You invented him."

"Ra! Ra!" Mort was on the verge of exploding.

"Listen to me, not to him. Before it's too late."

"Leave me alone!" Mort yelled. He picked up an ashtray from a side table and hurled it at the wall. He stood for a moment, transfixed with what he had just done.

"You are alone.." Whispered the other. And with that, he was gone.

Mort advanced to the dent in the wall. The dent began to crack the wall, and the whole hotel building began to split down the middle. Mort followed the crack with his eyes.

All the voices inside his head began to whisper at once. It was driving him mad.

_You're not handling this.. What you're doing is-- Everything you're doing is wrong --is wrong. You've been eating potato chips this way for 30 years.. Everything you're doing is wrong.. For 30 years.. For 30 years.. _

Mort caught a glance of himself in the mirror, but for some strange reason, the reflection was somehow portraying his back even though he was standing in front of it. Mort advanced slowly toward the mirror.

_..Sister found out about the broken window. And the school had to be withdrawn from the competition... Sister found out about the broken windows.. out of the competition--competition.. Then she got up from the table. We didn't talk for the rest of the night.. rest of the night... Ted thought that a woman who would steal your love-- What does Ted have to do with it?.. Everything.. I'm starting to believe that Ted was right.. Everything that you're doing is wrong. _

He turned away from the rear reflection, then turned back. It was normal again. "What is happening to me?" He asked.

"Oh, I think you know. I think you have a real good idea," The slow, southern drawl said.

Not turning his back, Mort swallowed hard and then spoke. "You don't exist."

Shooter advanced. "Me? I exist, Mr. Corso. I exist because.. you made me."

Mort suddenly had a flashback to a time when he and Amy had went to a garage sale. Mort had found the amish-style hat among the junk that was there and thought it was funny. He had stood in the mirror and placed it on his head as Amy stood by watching. "Check it out! I'm a dairy farmer from Mississippi." Mort had said in the southern accent.

"You thought me up," Shooter said, breaking Mort from his thoughts. Shooter approached him. "Gave me my name, told me everything you wanted me to do."

Various images of Mort killing Fargas and the Baroness fluttered through his mind. He gasped and an uneasy look came over his face.

"You didn't have the stomach to do it yourself, but you knew I did."

Images of Mort dragging Fargas outside and dunking him over and over again in the fountain passed though his head. Images of Mort strangling the Baroness and then setting the library on fire passed through his head.

"Are we done yet? We got things all cleaned up around here?" Shooter asked, coming right up behind Mort. "What's the real reason I come for?"

"Get the book." Mort replied, everything becoming clear now.

"That's right."

"Get the book. Gotta open The Ninth Gate," Mort said.

"And how do you suppose we ought ta do that?" Shooter asked. He placed the hat to Mort's chest.


	61. Chapter 61

---

61

---

Liana pulled into a space in the parking lot of the hotel she was staying at in France. She turned off the engine, took out the key and sat still for a moment. Then she turned around and hit Ted on the head. "Get up."

Ted opened his eyes groggily and stared up at Liana puzzled. He sat up and got out of the car, as did Liana. They made their way up to Liana's suite. Liana grabbed her compact off of a nearby table and sat down on the bed. Ted stood by her.

Slowly, Liana lifted her hand to her face and began to peel away at her skin, revealing the complexion of Amy.

"Come here, Ted," Amy said softly. Ted approached her.

Amy placed a hand behind Ted's head and pulled his face to hers. She kissed him slowly and passionately then pushed him away. Ted stared at her, a stupid grin on his face.

"Now where's the book?" She asked.

Ted opened his jacket and reached into the pocket where he had placed 'The Nine Gates'. His stupid grin wiped off his face and turned into a look of puzzlement. He looked inside the pocket, then became nervous.

He closed his jacket and looked at Amy like a child who's done something bad.

"What's wrong?" Amy asked.

Ted hesitated at first, then spoke up. "I... I don't have it."

Amy narrowed her eyes, angrily, at him and bolted up from her seat on the bed. She stood right in front of him. "Why don't you have it?" She asked softly, and calmly as though she were talking to a child who had lost their mittens.

Ted stumbled back a step. "I guess I forgot it in my car."

Amy hooked her hand around Ted's balls and squeezed firmly. Ted emitted a painful squeal. She stared into his eyes with an evil glare for a moment, then finally released her grip. Ted recoiled, grabbing at his throbbing crotch. He fell against the wall and slid to the floor.

Amy walked over to her closet and grabbed her jacket. She put it on.

Ted looked up at her. "You're not going up there."

Amy looked at him scornfully. "I'm not going to dance around this anymore. Once I get that book, it'll be over." She rummaged through some papers on a desk. "We won't have to have these horrible conversations every other day."

"Yeah, well. I'm going with you."

"I'm going alone, Ted," She said, opening a cabinet and looking for something.

"Well, that makes no sense.."

"All I want is for this be over," She said, walking to the doorway. "I'll be back around 7." She opened the door and left.

Ted watched her leave, then he got up. As he was getting up, he hit his crotch on the nightstand. "Agghhhh!" He yelled, cupping his crotch and stumbling around.

After the pain faded a bit, he looked around to make sure that no one was watching him. Then he opened the opposite side of his jacket and pulled out 'The Nine Gates'

He began to laugh.


	62. Chapter 62

---

62

---

Instead of going where she said she was going, Amy went to the Turret Chamber.

She climbed a flight of stairs to the battlements and then walked along them to the tower. She paused outside an old door and listened. A man's voice was faintly audible. Just a slight whisper, but she knew it was someone. Slightly hesitating, she knocked on the door. She waited a moment, but there was no answer so she pushed the door open slowly and walked inside.

"Hello?" She called. But there was no answer except the faint male voice coming from nearby.

"What the hell?" She asked, seeing that the place was in complete disarray. The floorboards creaked from above and she looked all around the chamber. After a moment, she began to climb the stairs. Amy looked around the upper floor then walked over to a small table that was in the corner. The table had nine sheets of paper laid out on top of it, a flask, and a Thermos. She could only assume that the papers were the missing engravings that she needed.

She picked up one of the engravings and looked at it. As she lifted it, she noticed something strange on the table underneath where the paper had been.

The word _SHOOTER_ was carved five times in a row into the wood. She put the engraving back down over it and took a step backwards. Her eyes suddenly began to look all around. _SHOOTER_ was written in white of the wall. _SHOOTER_ was carved into the door. _SHOOTER_ was carved in the walls all around her.

All of a sudden there was a loud creaking noise and the door of the chamber moved back, revealing Mort wearing a strange Amish hat. Amy jumped and gasped. Instead of_ SHOOTER _the words _SHOOT HER_ were carved around him on the walls. Amy covered her mouth and gasped. Mort raised his eyes to look at her. He looked very mysterious.

"Hi," Amy said. Mort stared at her angrily. Amy came closer to him. "Jesus, Mort. Where did you get that old thing?" She asked, remembering where they had gotten it, but wondering why he was suddenly wearing it now. Everything here was not right. There was something off.

"It's mine. Wasn't ever anybody else's," Mort replied in the slow, southern drawl.

Amy backed away a bit. She was usually a powerful woman, didn't take shit from anyone. But this was just plain weird!

She breathed out. "M-Mort.. What's wrong?"

Mort advanced. "You got you a wrong number, missus." He placed his hand on the back of her head and undid her ponytail. Amy moved away from him, toward the stairs. "Ain't no Mort here. Mort's dead." He advanced, and she began to back away down the stairs.

"He did a whole lot of squirmin' around but in the end, he couldn't lie to himself anymore. Let alone, to me. Now, I never put a hand on him, Missus. I swear. He took the cowards way out."

"Why are you talking this way, Mort?" Amy asked, nervously. She was totally freaked out now.

"It's just the way I talk."

"You're scaring me.." She whispered.

"It don't matter." He pulled out a gun. "You won' be scared long."

Amy scoffed at him. "You didn't have the guts to do it when you found me with Ted and you don't have the guts now. Put it away," Amy said, grabbing at it.

Mort took a step back, trying to get away from Amy's grabbing hand, but he stepped on something and stumbled back a few steps instead, allowing Amy to grab onto the gun and form a struggle between the two of them.

As their struggle moved to the side, they reached a patch of bad floorwork and Amy fell through the boards, stuck in place. Mort picked up the gun, scrambled to his feet, and aimed it at an Amy Milner that was trying to wriggle herself free of her entrapment.

Seeing the gun in her face, she stopped her wriggling all at once and stared up at her captor.

"I'm about done fussin' with you." Mort said, disgruntled. He bent down and, ever so kindly, decided to help out Amy's situation by pushing her farther into the entrapment with his foot. Amy let out a moan as the heel of his shoe pressed on her head. "Ahhhhhhh!"

She painfully lifted a hand and hit Mort in the face. He fell down from the blow. But not for long. He quickly scrambled to his feet once again, his lip split open and bleeding.

He held the gun up to her. "I am so sorry, Missus. But right is right, and fair is fair and something.. has got to be done." He brandished the gun in her face. Amy looked up at him and struggled to breathe. Her face was all bloody and dirty from Mort's shoe.

"By the way, I want you to know that none of this was my idea, it was Mr. Corso all along." He drawled, hovering over her.

Amy grabbed his pant leg. "But you are.. Mort.. Corso."

Mort smiled, his cut lip bleeding. "I got a place for ya."

"You are.. Mort.. Corso!"

"I got it all picked out."

"You are Mort.. Corso.." She struggled, breathing heavily.

Ted pulled his car up next to Amy's. He climbed the stairs and walked to the tower. He pushed open the door and walked up the steps. Ted stared down into the interior of the turret, which formed a cylindrical chamber. He observed his wife, Amy, being held at gun point by.. _was that Mort?_

He noticed engravings on the table and gulped. He opened his jacket, took out 'The Nine Gates' and began to flip through the pages. There were engravings missing, surely enough.

"Dammit," Ted whispered.

Mort heard a noise and looked off to the side. His smile faded and he turned around. Then he turned back to Amy. Her grip slipped from his pant leg. "Uhh.. Mort.. uhhh.." She moaned.

He walked away and looked around the chamber. But he saw nothing.

"Ohhh! Mort.." Amy moaned.

He looked at her stuck in the floor and brandished the pistol at her. "I like that." He stepped one step backwards and put his armed arm down at his side. "Now you can watch," He said and threw the gun off to the side carelessly.

Mort turned to his little table and picked the Thermos. He turned partway back in Amy's direction. "I'm enterin' unchartered territory. Takin' the road that leads to equality with God," Mort said in his accent, pouring the innards of the Thermos into a flask.

Mort lifted the flask up to his face and drank from it. "Ooh," He exclaimed. He turned back to Amy. "Ye can't come with me. I must travel alone." He picked up a kerosine lamp and placed on the floor. "But you can look on 'n marvel."

Amy moaned in reply.

Mort grabbed a container of gas and poured it in a circle around the chamber. "There've bin' men who've bin' burned alive 'r disemboweled fer just a glimpse o' what yer about ta witness." He put down the container of gas and kneeled down in the middle of the circle, his back to Amy.

Placing his hands in prayer position, he recited, "I give ya m'allegiance, Master. I pledge m'self te ya body n' soul. Let me fear neither noose, nor fire, nor poison. Erase me from th'Book o' Life 'n inscribe me in th'black Book o' Death. Emit me to Th'Ninth Gate. Let it be so."

All the while, Amy had been wriggling around in her entrapment again. Still coming up unsuccessful in freeing herself, though.

Mort stood up and picked up the kerosine lamp, raised it above his head. "Let it be so!" He said, his accented voice raising in volume. "Let it be so now!" Mort yelled, crashing the lamp down to the floor.

The circle of gas that had been laid out went up in flames. Amy watched helplessly, still struggling to escape.

Mort stood in the middle of the circle of flames and turned so he was facing Amy again. "Ooh.. ooh yes," Mort said, breathing heavily, taking in this new feeling he was experiencing. "I feel th'power surge through me like 'n electric current, renderin' me capable o' any feat o' mind 'r body! I am invulnerable, I am invincible," Mort said, beginning to laugh hysterically. The flames were growing higher and more wild.

Amy was really becoming desperate for an escape.

"I could float on air, I could walk on water," Mort marveled. He got down on his knees and kneeled over a section of fire. Mort moved his hands through the flames. "Behold. I plunge m'hands in fire, I feel no heat..." He said, staring at his hands. When he looked up, he fell backwards onto his elbows, seeing the unbearable. He saw Ted watching over him from above. "Ted?" He asked, surprisedly.

"What were you expecting? An apparition?" Ted asked.

"Yer not wanted here. Leave," Mort said angrily, grabbing the kerosine lamp, placing it behind his back, and getting to his feet.

"I'm the only apparition you'll see tonight," Ted said. He pointed to the engravings on the table. "You killed for those," he said, pointing to the engravings upon the table.

"They's mine. Not yers," Mort said simply.

"Teddd!" Amy suddenly moaned.

Ted turned in Amy's direction and gasped. While Ted was turned, Mort pulled the lamp out from behind his back and hit Ted atop the head with it. Ted's body fell to the ground and caught on fire. Quickly, the fire was spreading around the rest of the chamber as well.

"Teeeddd! Ahhhh! Ughh." Amy screamed, sobbing.

Mort looked over at her and smiled. Amy tried to lift herself, but couldn't.

Mort grabbed a nearby shovel that was leaning on the wall and brought it over to Ted. Amy sobbed uncontrollably. Mort brought down the shovel in a few quick stabs.

"Nooooooooo!" Amy yelled as Mort repeatedly shoveled Ted. "Nuuhhhh..," She moaned, stopping her struggling and letting herself go limp.

Mort walked through the flames toward Amy. "I know I can do it...," He began, advancing and looking down at her battered face. "...I'm sure that in time, I will open...," He placed the shovel over her head.

"...The Ninth Gate."


	63. Chapter 63

---

63

---

Mort made his way out of the burning turret chamber and, carrying the engravings, back to his car.

He threw the ugly hat and engravings in the backseat of the car and smiled to himself. "Who knew that all you had to do was act crazy to get rid of annoyances in your life?" He said to himself.

He continued to smile and took out a cigarette from his pocket and placed it into his mouth, lit it and sat back.

Suddenly a hand from out of nowhere came and pulled it out of his mouth. Mort jumped in fear and turned to see his invader.

It was the girl. _How surprising_.

He stared at her, puzzled.

She leaned in, slowly, and gently removed his glasses. He stared back at her blurry shape, still completely confused.

She placed a hand upon his face and began to caress his cheek. They stared into eachother's eyes for a moment, then both leaned in for a long, passionate kiss.


	64. Chapter 64

---

64

---

Driving along the highway, back to Mort's hotel in France, he turned his head to her briefly and asked, "Is that it? Is the game over?"

"For Ted and Amy, yes. Not for you," She replied, a smile upon her face.

He looked at her puzzled for a moment before turning his eyes back on the road.

The girl stared at him, still keeping her smile. Then she glanced at his fuel indicator. "You're running low on gas."

Mort sighed and pulled off at the next exit and into a gas station. He got out and shoved the hose into the car's gas tank. He looked at his Jeep and saw the girl sitting patiently in the passenger's seat.

When the car's gas tank was full, he went into the store to pay. As he came out from the store and made his way back to the car, he glanced through the car's window expecting to see the girl. Only, the girl was gone. Inspecting the car further, he noticed a folded paper stuck under one of the windshield wipers that was blowing in the breeze. He picked it up and opened it.

It was a photocopy of the engraving which portrayed a naked woman riding a seven-headed dragon with a castle ablaze in the background. There was a handwritten message scrawled messily across the paper. It read:

9TH ENGRAVING A FORGERY

CENIZA BROS.

Mort looked up from the paper, his mouth open. Feelings of awe and excitement washed over him.


	65. Chapter 65

---

65

---

Mort made his way down the old Portuguese alleyway, searching for the Ceniza Bros. workshop. He rounded a corner, then spotted the familiar place. But as he walked closer to it, there was something different about it.

The shop's exterior was in disarray and there was a moving truck parked outside. Mort slowly stepped into the shop only to find the place half empty with two moving men inside trying to disassemble one of the remaining bookshelves with a power-drill.

Not noticing Mort's intrusion, they went on in their work, talking amongst themselves as they did so. Mort looked around the distraught shop, in complete befuddlement. Suddenly, one of the movers turned and saw Mort standing there.

"Oiga," Mort said.

"Seftor?" The mover replied.

"Hermanos Ceniza?" Mort asked.

"Como?" The mover asked.

"Hemanos Ceniza?" Mort repeated.

The mover pointed to himself. "Pepe Lopez." He pointed to the other mover. "Ricardo Ferrerra."

"Si," Mort said, looking down at the floor disappointedly. He lifted his head and asked, "Do you speak english?"

The man gave him a look which Mort perceived as a 'no', then he returned back to his work.

Mort stepped a few steps closer to the movers to get a better look at the shop. The mover said something to Mort in Portuguese, pointing to the book shelf. Mort understood that he was in the way and they were going to move it so he backed up a step.

As they moved it down to the floor, a dusty piece of paper slid off the top of the cabinet and fell to the floor like a falling leaf. It landed right at Mort's feet.

Instinctively, Mort bent over and picked it up. He looked it over, then more closely. His eyes became wide.

It was the Ninth Engraving: The naked woman riding a seven-headed dragon with a castle ablaze in the background. The woman's face bared a strong resemblance to that of the mysterious girl.

Mort walked out of the shop and down the alleyway, in a flash of light, his receding figure dwindled to a speck.


End file.
